


Has Death Always been a Subjective Term?

by TheLastDemiWarriorNinjaofFireSide



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Denial, Disturbing Themes, Logicality but low battery if you know what I mean, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, No Smut, Oblivious Deceit, Octopus Dark Creativity | Remus “The Duke” Sanders, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Read at Your Own Risk, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Spider Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Suicide comes up a a bunch but no one dies I promise, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Temporary Amnesia, Temporary Character Death, Touch Aversion, awkward gays, but I don’t want to trigger anyone so aaaa, its not a big plot point but it’s VERY important to me, let’s see how many times the author can revise the tags before people call her out on it, like it just gets talked about, not a whole bunch of tho I don’t think, this turned out a lot darker than expected?, touch-aversive Virgil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 130,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21801922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastDemiWarriorNinjaofFireSide/pseuds/TheLastDemiWarriorNinjaofFireSide
Summary: What do you do when you have no name?You make one.What do you do when you have no purpose?You find one.What do you do when your family lies to you?You lie right back.Deceit’s always been a coward, anyways.(Currently on a short hiatus while my hand heals and I get on top of my schoolwork!)
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Deceit Sanders, Deceit Sanders & Everyone, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Logicality, Platonic Creativitwins, Prinxiety, demus - Relationship
Comments: 1515
Kudos: 1063





	1. Waking Up to an Unfamiliar World is Hard, Although Perhaps Only for the People around You

Waking up was not with a start, but rather a slow process of pins and needles.   
  


They (he?)(yes, he was fairly certain he was man...if only because of the feeling of _wrongness_ when he tested the female—or any other— pronoun in relation to himself)

Anyways, _He_ tested beach of his limbs. He had four, which seemed the normal number, yet still felt wrong. Did He not have one of his limbs before?

He racked his memory, but found He had no memory to rack. Was He a child, then? 

But no. He found his limbs far to large to be that of a child’s, and He had knowledge, as in, He knew that He was in a room, and He knew it was _his_ room (although is was horribly bland), and He knew that voices were coming from outside his door.

They seemed to be arguing. The first voice He heard was level, matter-of-fact, and was almost monotone. Another was more...grand? Like, he was speaking as if he was reading a Shakespeare script. He heard a third voice speak, and that one had a confidence different from the grand one, it was more...wholesome and somewhat bubbly. It was obvious from the tone that he was comforting the others. The next voice was definitely dead inside. It was dry and...yeah dead inside was pretty much all He could say about it, although He could definitely hear a large note of worry in it. 

The fifth voice spoke up, more high-pitched than the others, and had obviously been crying. His voice was raw, and He could tell his nose was stuffy. He was also suggesting that they knock the door down.

He did not fancy the idea of knocking _any_ doors down, and from the way they were talking, the door they were going to knock down was _his_ . So a _definite_ no to that idea. 

He sat up from his bed, white t-shirt and shorts rustling as He located his door. Like the rest of his room, it was a boring white, with no decorations or personality to it. Hmmm. Hopefully He would be able to fix that later. It also didn’t have a doorknob. So that was sort of a problem.

But as He stretched out his hand towards where the doorknob should have been, He found it materialized beneath his fingers.

What the...You know what? Nevermind.

Shrugging off his confusion, He turned the handle and opened the door to five frozen people. 

“Hello,” He said, “would any of you please inform me of my name?”

— — —

The answer was no, none of them could tell him his name. Namely because none of them knew his name. So He supposed He would have to find one, or at least a substitute for now.

He sat on his bed, with the five that had been arguing with each other sitting on the floor. To an outsider, it may have seemed that He was going to tell them a story, but in this case, it was more likely that _they_ were going to tell the story. 

Just by looking at them, He could identify them to the voices. The almost monotone voice belonged to the man in the tie, the voice that sounded like he 

was reading from his script belonged to the guy wearing the red sash in a princelike style, the bubbly voice belonged to the one on the cardigan with paw prints, the dead inside voice belonged to the emo in eyeshadow, and that left the high-pitched voice to the one in green, with an outfit that mirrored the Shakespeare guy. For a brief moment He wondered why, but then put the subject away for later. Questions could sometimes be answered without you asking them.

Studying them for one moment longer, He shifted himself in his bed, getting more comfortable, before asking, “So, can any of you explain where I am, _who_ I am, and also why we all look exactly the same?”

The one in the tie nodded, “Yes, but first, can you see what you remember, or what you have figured out so far? After you tell us what you know, we can fill in what we can afterwards.”

He nodded. That would make the process easier for them, and most likely more efficient.

So He closed his eyes and tried his hardest to remember anything from his past, even what He ate the past night...but He still came up with nothing.

He shook his head, “I don’t remember anything,” He told them, and He saw a couple of them visibly deflate, “but,” He added, “I already know a lot about you.”

“Oh?” The one in the tie questioned, sitting up straighter, “Please, tell us what you know.”

He snorted, “Well, okay, but frankly it’s kind of obvious.” He pointed to Tie-Guy, “You’re the nerd, Drama Kid is well, the drama kid, Hoodie is the emo with anxiety, Cardigan is the…” He waved his hand, searching for the right phrase, “The bubbly guy, the comic relief. He looks like he loves arts and crafts, and he _definitely_ loves animals. And Mustache over here...” He turned to look at guy in the green sash. He stared at him long enough that the poor dude started squirming, “You’re Drama Kid inverted.”

Tie-Guy was about to say something, but He put his hand up before the man could talk, “I’m not done yet.” He grinned, he had made the others uncomfortable. That was somewhat amusing, considering they had been in his room for less than five minutes.

“You two,” He pointed to Nerd and Shakespeare, “Have superiority complexes,—” Tie scoffed and Red spluttered—“and you—” he pointed to Purple and Green Day–“Have been crying.”

Emo started and Prep School peered incredulously at him, “What? I cry, like, sixty percent of the time I’m awake.” Preppy chuckled, and Bubbles made a worried sound. That was interesting.

“How did you know all of that?” Bubbles asked, looking far too awed.

He wasn’t even sure if Paw Patrol was serious. Either he was the most sarcastic little shit ever, or he was an idiot. Like, anyone could see what he had pointed out, you just had to _look_ at them.

“I knew,” He drawled, humoring him, “because I can read your _mind_.” He made a little show with his hands, imagining he was performing to an audience (which he kinda was, but that was besides the point).

The dolt seemed to actually believe him, “ _Really_?” He asked, eyes wide.

He dropped his hands and stared at the moron incredulously. He hadn’t _actually_ expected him to be that dumb, “...No.” He said, caught off guard, “That was sarcasm.”

The man shrugged, “Well, it would have been cool.”

He made a face at him, so thrown off his rhythm He was on a totally different dimension than it.

“Okay, then, now that I’m done with that...can you please tell me why we all look alike?” He demanded, “Also, what is my name? It’s getting really hard to for the author to write in third person without my name!”

The Guy in a Tie blinked, “It...what?”

He waved his hand airily, “That was a joke. I just really want to know my name.”

“Oh,” Tie said, “Well, I guess we should address the question of _what_ we are, first. Do you know your purpose?”

He narrowed his eyes at the bespectacled nerd. _Why do I get the feeling that is a proper noun?_

He debated on his answer, “...Like, do you mean ‘do you believe we are just specks of dust floating in space’ or—“

“No,” Nerd said, “I just suppose I should say it, although we tend to have —er— _strong_ reaction to first hearing his name, so we have to be somewhat—“

“How to you add on to Thomas’s personality?” Red interjected, which was probably a bad idea on his part.

The “strong reaction” Mr. Roboto had mentioned could be better described as an inner explosion.

First off, He got an award-winning, mind-cleaving, God-has-smitted-you headache. He doubled over, clutching his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Second of all, he got an urging, pressing, _yearning_ desire to protect Thomas. He didn’t even _know_ this Thomas.

But, He found, He _did_ know Thomas. He could remember Thomas’s memories, although He knew He wasn’t Thomas. He was a _part_ of Thomas, however. That was interesting.

As he was having these revelations, the pain abruptly stopped, leaving only a hollow ache in his temples, and He sat up, eyeing the others warily.

“You good there, buddy?” Patches asked, “That looked like one hell of a headache.”

He nodded, “I’m fine now,” He said, before checking himself over, “I think.”

Spec & Tech leaned forward, “You think?” He asked.

“I just, feel weird?” He stretched out his arms and inspected them, “Something’s missing.”

“Missing.” The nerd repeated, eyebrows furrowing.

“Yeah,” He replied, “I don’t know what, though.”

“Anything else that you deem out of the ordinary?” Teach asked.

“Um, I remember stuff.” He looked up just in time to see everyone stiffen.

Paw Patrol and Tie Guy looked wary, Purple looked divided between terrified, happy, and livid. Red Riding Hood, to his surprise, wasn’t looking at him, but looking at Mustache, who looked positively _ecstatic_.

“You remember?” Greenie asked, sounding _far_ too hopeful for his liking.

“Only Thomas’s memories.” He clarified, “The farthest back I can remember in _my_ memories is when I woke up today.”

Everyone seemed to deflate, whether it was relief or dejection. Hoodie seemed the most conflicted, but the real question was _why_ they all seemed to have such strong emotions about him not remembering.

“...Was I _supposed_ to remember something?” He questioned.

Tie Guy adjusted his glasses, “Well, no. I don’t suppose you should. You’re new, so you _shouldn’t_ remember anything.”

“Okay…” He took that as an answer, although it was obvious that he wasn’t telling him everything, and He continued, “May we do introductions, please?”

Tie nodded, “Of course. I am Logan.”

“And I’m Patton!” Paw Patrol exclaimed excitedly, “You can call me Pat, or Dad!”

He raised his eyebrow at the supposed father figure, and he headed Greenie snicker and mumble something under his breath, (no doubt thinking the same thing he was), and he saw Red elbow him.

“I’m Roman.” Shakespeare introduced himself, “It is a pleasure to meet you.” He turned to look at Purple expectantly.

The said emo sighed, “And I’m Virgil.” He grunted, but choked a bit on his name, and he had to cough, “You can call me Virge.” He said, sounding like he was choking on his own spit. Roman patted him on the back.

“I’m Remus!” Mustache announced, still rubbing his side where Roman had elbowed him.

Something about Remus was...off. His voice had a quality of being permanently chipper, but He got the impression that Remus’s voice was surprisingly dead compared to what he normally sounded like. His eyes, too, looked like he wasn’t really paying attention to what was happening. 

Filing that information away for later, He asked the rest of the others, “And I assume that we are not brothers?”

Patton tilted his head, “And how did you know _that_?”

He glanced at how close Logan and Patton were sitting next to each other, and thought back to how every time he even mentioned Virgil, Roman swelled up dangerously, as if to protect him from anything he might say. Probably best not to mention that.

“When Roman mentioned Thomas it kind of...” He made an airy motion with his hand, “I just sort of _knew_.”

The others nodded as if that was a good explanation, and Logan adjusted his glasses, “I feel that now is a good time to explain _what_ we are. As you probably know, we are part of Thomas, being called Thomas’s ‘sides’. I am his Logical side, being his voice of reason and seeing over long-term memory, along with Patton.”

Patton grinned, bouncing a little, “And I’m Morality, and Emotions! I’m called Thomas’s Heart most of the time! I’m also the moral support Dad!”

He blinked at Patton, _There were_ way _too many exclamation points in that paragraph._ He thought.

“And I’m Anxiety.” Virgil drawled, glaring at him from beneath his bangs, as if saying ‘fite me’. Which made sense. Anxiety wasn’t really a thing everyone liked, so he would probably have a pretty tough demeanor as a self-defense mechanism. 

“I’m Creativity.” Roman said, “I also represent Thomas’s Hopes, Dreams, Ambitions, and Ego! Also, I’m kind of the prince character.”

Remus piped up, “I’m also Creativity, but of cooler things like cannsbilism and murder! I’m called The Duke, and I eat deodorant!”

He couldn’t stop a choked noise from coming out of his mouth, “That’s...great, Remus.” Virgil and Roman both gave him a pained smile.

“So you’re _both_ Creativity?” He asked.

Remus pointed to Roman and said, “I’m his twin.” At the same time _Roman_ pointed at _Remus_ and said, “He’s my twin.”

He blinked, “Twins can _exist_ in this...place? What is this place, anyways?”

“Well, this is the mindscape, also called the mind palace, Thomas’s mind, so on and so forth.” Logan supplied, “And Roman and Remus used to form one Creativity, until Thomas made a definite distinction between mortally wrong and morally right creativity, and the two split.”

He nodded. He got the feeling that this was a bit of an uncomfortable subject, so he didn’t push it any further.

“So now _we’re_ done with our introductions, what about yours?” Roman asked, clearly wanting the conversation to move forward.

He blinked at the Prince character, “I don’t know what I am, or my name.”

Roman faltered, “You don’t?”

Patton jumped into the conversation, “Well, I didn’t know what I was until Thomas was eight years old, and I’m the oldest! And I didn’t even decide on my name until Thomas was at least six!”

“Oh… but what are going to call you until you find out?” Roman asked, “It’s not going to be fun if we have to call you ‘Um’ all the time.”

He chuckled, “Okay, then, how about we go with a placeholder? A letter or something.” 

“How about Dee?” Virgil suggested.

Roman gasped, “Virgil!” he reproached.

“What?” The purple side snapped back, “Everyone’s thinking it.”

“Enough.” Logan said sharply, “We can carry on this conversation later, but for now it’s what he decides.” Logan turned back to him, “So?”

He thought about it, ducking his head a bit. These people _obviously_ weren’t telling him something, and it was tied to with that name. Would be adopting that name have any repercussions? It felt weird that someone else would choose his nickname for him, and even stranger that that someone didn’t even have to think about it. It made him question the side’s authenticity.

But, when He tested out the name, it felt _right_. Something clicked into place, a piece of a puzzle He didn’t even know existed. It was a small piece, but it was a piece. So He lifted his chin, and looked at the people before him.

“Alright, then,” Dee declared, “My name is Dee, and I help protect Thomas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I update reliably every Friday, so you guys won’t have to wait a millennia for the next chapter! 
> 
> Also, don’t forget to kudos and comment if you like it! I am in dire need of dopamine...


	2. Staying Awake, Though, Still Requires a Lot of Coffee

Dee stood up abruptly, breaking the spell that had all the sides holding their breath, “Okay, I’m hungry. So do mind people have food or do I have to eat my blankets to satiate my hunger?”

Patton literally bounced to his feet, “We have food! We have lots of it! Lots and _lots_!”

Dee’s stomach growled. Apparently coming into existence made you ravenous.

“Yes, please let’s go eat right now this second,” he said, letting Patton lead the way out of his room and into the kitchen.

It wasn’t much to take in, but it definitely felt homey, like it had years of laughter and food fights in, and promised more later. It made a warmth blossom in Dee’s chest that he could _definitely_ have more of in the future. 

His stomach growled again as Patton opened the fridge, humming excitedly. He seemed to be in a tizzy about making Dee’s first meal a great one, but honestly he would settle for anything right now.

“Do you want lasagna, pork chops, or chicken divan?” Patton asked from the fridge, “Or do you want me to make something new?”

“Anything is fine.” Dee returned quietly, “But I _would_ like something with meat.”

Virgil appeared to the left, “Table’s over there,” he said, waving his hand to the right, “pick any seat you like, we don’t care.”

Patches _said_ that they didn’t care, but Dee got the distinct impression that they all had their specific spots. Sadly, he didn’t get any distinct impressions about where he should sit. The ends of the table was most definitely off, most likely belonging to Logan or Patton, and Roman had already sat down. Remus would probably sit down next to him, so that left a half-and- half chance of sitting down in the right spot.

It was like flipping a coin. Heads, Dee game-overed, tails he got to fight for another round. Fitting into this group, this _family_ they had formed, was not going to be easy, _especially_ when they were keeping something from him.

_But easy is a four letter word, as they say_ . Dee thought to himself, _I just have to work hard, and somehow find my place in this mindscape._

By the stove now, Patton was hovering over two pots and a pan, frantically stirring and humming to himself. It looked like since Dee couldn’t decide, Patton had decided to make _all_ of the food.

Dee sat down at the table, in front of where Remus should sit. It wasn’t set in stone, but he had a feeling Virgil wouldn’t want to be in his spot, given how… eccentric Remus had been when introducing himself.

As the rest of the sides sat down on their spots on the table (as he had predicted, Dee felt with a twitch of pride) Patton started bringing out the food, which Dee did a mental double check on.

“How did you heat the food up so quick?” Dee asked, his eyes widening. He had expected at least a thirty to forty minute wait, given Patton was making three meals at once.

“Oh! Well, since the mindscape isn’t actually physical, we can manipulate parts of it.” Patton explained, “Including how quickly we make our food.”

“That’s how Roman made the chair you’re sitting in.” Virgil added, and Dee inspected the wooden creation, when a thought struck him.

“Why was the chair already here?” He asked.

Virgil’s eyes widened, “Oh, well…” he paused for a second, “we saw your door about three days before it fully faded into place, so Roman made a chair in preparation.”

Dee carefully schooled his face into a small smile, sending a small message of gratitude. He knew that wasn’t the full truth. They were keeping something from him, but perhaps that was that was to be expected. He wasn’t even a day old, after all. They hadn’t even started to open up to him yet. Perhaps all he had to do was wait.

His food was set before him, and his mouth immediately started watering. The others looked at him, apparently waiting for him to take a bite. He hovered uncertainly over each dish, not sure which to eat first. He decided to go with the pork chop, which seemed the juiciest, and tentatively raised it to his lips and bit in.

The resulting deliciousness was more that he could attempt to describe. The flavor exploded in his mouth, and he decided then and there that food was amazing was therefore to be cherished.

“ ‘s good, right?” Virgil said around the food in his mouth, “Pat’s cooking is the best cooking.”

Speaking of Patton, he was staring so intently at Dee that he idly wondered if he had poisoned the food and was waiting for it to kick in. 

But before Dee could say anything to this effect, Patton, more intense than anything he had been so far, asked, “Do you like it?”

To this, Dee nodded vigorously, swallowing his mouthful, “It is _amazing_ , Patton. Good job.” He complemented.

Patton giggled, “Oh, Dee, you don’t have to flatter me! And you can call me Dad! You’re my son now.”

“O...kay,” Dee said slowly. This whole “family” thing was kind of throwing him off. Weren’t they all basically the same dude? Although, if Roman and Remus were _actually_ twins, then logically other family structures could be formed.

In front of him, Remus snickered, “So may I call you that, now?” He asked Patton, resting his head heavily on his hand, elbow on the table. He wiggled his eyebrows at the self-proclaimed paternal side.

Patton turned to look at him, “Sure thing, kiddo!” He said, smile wide on his face. Roman groaned and thunked his head 

Remus smiled dangerously, “Thank you, _Daddy_.” 

Virgil spat out his chicken divan, “Seriously?” He growled.

Roman punched Remus’s shoulder, screeching, “We are at the _dinner table!_ ”

Logan just sighed and moved on to his next dish, while Pat sat there, confused.

“What?” the paternal side asked, tilting his head.

“It’s—never mind, Padre. You don’t want to know.” Roman said, shaking his head as if to rid himself of what had just occurred.

Dee sat there, making a _yikes_ face. _Eccentric_ was putting it pretty light for Remus, he was quickly discovering.

The said green-clad side leaned across the table (okay, more like _crawled_ on the table) to get in _way_ too close to Dee’s face, making him lean away.

_Fan-fricking-diddly-tastic,_ Dee thought sarcastically, _he’s after me now._

It was intimidating, being _leaned_ over. He schooched himself down the chair a bit, panicking slightly, _Shitshitshitshitshitshishiit_ _he’s_ really _fucking close._

Remus smiled at him, taking no heed to the panic on Dee’s face, “Nice name by the way!” He chirped, “I always love a big _D_ in my mouth.” His voice deepened grotesquely at the end, and the immature dolt actually _winked_ at him.

Dee blinked, “Excuse _you._ ” He said indignantly. 

“Okay!” Roman yelled, spurred into action, and yanking Remus back into his seat, “That’s enough, Remus!”

Virgil got up from the table, “Aaand I’m out. Bye, Pat, bye, Dee. I’ll come downstairs later.”

Dee sat back up, running a hand over his ruffled hair. Roman started _whapp_ ing his brother with a pillow that he had apparently summoned, “We! Are! At! The! Din!

Ner! Table!” He yelled, hitting Remus at each syllable.

“Now, now, kiddos. Stop hitting each other, you might knock over the food.” Patton tried to placate them.

Dee looked at the only calm one in the room, Logan. He was still stolidly eating his food, and he met Dee’s eyes, and just shrugged.

— — —

About forty-five minutes later, all the sides were settled down, all the food had been eaten, and all the dishes had been washed. Logan had been sent to get Virgil to come downstairs so they could watch a movie, as the rest set up the living room.

“So!” Roman said brightly, “What do you want to watch?”

“I don’t know.” Dee said, “One of you choose.”

“I believe it is my turn today.” Logan said as he was coming down the stairs.

“Awww, but I wanted to pick the movie!” Roman whined, “I want Dee’s first movie to be _Disney_ , not one of your boring documentaries!”

Dee saw Logan’s expression change ever so slightly from neutral to annoyed, and he probably was going to fling an insult about Roman’s tastes in response, but Dee interrupted before he could, “I wouldn’t mind a documentary.” He told Logan in a soft voice, smiling slightly.

Logan gave a grateful smile in return, and he pulled a CD from out of nowhere (after a moment’s confusion, Dee realized that he had summoned it) and put it into the TV. 

“Don’t worry, Roman. This is only about three quarters of an hour long, so you can play one of your movies afterwards.” Logan said, just as Virgil came down the stairs.

“Have we made the popcorn yet?” The purple-clad side asked, stretching. Surveying the popcorn-less room, he huffed, “C’mon, guys. You put the disc in, and you haven’t even made the popcorn?” He walked out of the living room and into the kitchen and started rifling through the pantry.

Soon the sound of little _pop’_ s filled the air, and three minutes later Virgil started taking the bowls of popcorn out and into the living room as the rest of the sides took their places on the couches. Logan was sitting on the far right, with Patton sitting right next to him, criss cross-applesauce style. Roman lounged on the rest of the couch, and Remus sat alone on the other couch. Dee still hadn’t sat down yet, because he didn’t know where Virgil was going to sit (although it was probably next to Roman) and he didn't want to steal his spot.

Virgil seemed to have the same dilemma as Dee, and the two stood awkwardly for a beat, until Virgil asked, “Where are you sitting?” 

“Wherever you don’t sit.” Dee replied politely, and Virgil smiled his thanks, and promptly sat next to Roman.

But that also left only one open spot—next to Remus. It wasn’t _that_ bad of a spot, but after seeing what Remus could be like it would be a lie to say Dee wasn’t a least a _little_ bit deterred.

He hesitated, naturally, to sit down next to the green-clad side, not sure if he wanted to sit down next to him or sit on the floor by the rest of the sides.

But Dee noticed the absence of Remus’s usual unsettling smile, which was strange to see, even if he had only known him for about two hours. The usually creepy, disturbing side was resting his head on his hand, looking at the others (who were fiddling with the remote) with an oddly heartbroken expression. His eyes flicked to Dee—he had undoubtedly seen his hesitation—and his shoulders slumped. Dee realized that there was a reason Remus had sat on this couch, all by himself, and he thought back to dinner, at how the others had yelled at him—for doing what he was born to do. Having the new guy— who hadn’t even known him for a full twenty-four hours yet—not want to sit with him must be devastating.

So Dee plopped himself firmly on the couch and smiled at Remus, who looked mildly surprised at the gesture, and settled himself in for the documentary. 

It was pretty interesting. It was about different plants and fungi, and other things of the sort. It even went over a type of fungus that turned ants into zombies. Remus was _ecstatic_ when that came up, Virgil looked terrified but intrigued, and Patton may or may not have cried.

There were about fifteen minutes left, and to be honest Dee _could_ have waited, but he wanted more popcorn, and they had ran out in the first ten minutes. So he got up to make some, telling the others what he was doing (Pat told him where the bags were) and started popping. The warm buttery smell made his mouth water as he took the bag out of the microwave. He poured it into two large bowls, like Virgil had done, and gave one to the sides one the larger couch. His counterparts immediately started munching away at a steady pace.

On the TV, the scene changed to a field, filled with bright sunflowers. Dee felt a sharp _pull_ in his subconscious. He felt another piece of that...that _puzzle_ fall into place. He gasped, and the popcorn slipped from his fingers.

Remus let out a cry of horror, and the rest of the sides looked at Dee in alarm, but he didn’t pay them any mind. Instead, he tugged on the bottom of his shirt, stretching it out so he could look at it. He didn’t really know what he was doing, but he shut his eyes and concentrated on that _tug_ he had felt. A tingling sensation erupted in his hands and he opened his eyes just in time to see yellow start bleeding into his shirt. The color traveled upwards, revealing a sunflower in the center of the t-shirt. 

Dee grinned, and he touched his bland, white shorts, and concentrated again, and they turned into black skinny jeans. He looked up at his counterparts, who’s cries of alarm had fallen silent as they had watched. Now they were watching him with intrigued expression.

“I like sunflowers.” Dee announced, “And I _really_ like yellow.”

That seemed to break the spell of silence. Patton immediately jumped up and started fawning over the new design, Virgil just _appeared_ next to Dee (the emo side startled Dee so badly he jumped about three feet in the air) to admire the jeans and the black Converse that came with them, and Roman came over and studied the outfit, and then suggested that he make the fabric something lighter and more stretchy.

“It looks like it’s about to choke you.” He said with a wave of his hand, and Dee complied, concentrating on the texture of his shirt and feeling it change from coarse to a soft, silken, more elastic texture.

Remus was still on the couch, shrieking indignantly, “The _popcorn!”_

Logan sighed at Remus, then snapped his fingers and suddenly the popcorn was back in the bowl, with not even a crumb misplaced. Remus made a wordless sound of delight and started munching heartily.

The rest of the sides seemed to be done Dee, and Roman suggested that they watch _Into the Spiderverse_ , to celebrate “their new sunflower side”. Logan objected, saying that they still had about ten minutes left, but Roman waved his hand, “Seven minutes of those ten are credits. They’re just giving the summary now.”

Logan huffed but relented, and Roman gleefully put the CD into the player, and the song “Sunflower” filled the room.

Watching the movie was nice. There was a lot more talking and conversations than in the documentary. Patton was terrified of spiders, and needed to be consoled whenever one came up on the screen, and Roman turned out to be a sarcastic little shit when it came to movies, despite choosing the movie himself.

“Oh, yeah,” Roman said sarcastically at one point, throwing popcorn at the screen, “of _course_ it’s his uncle. That’s _totally_ not too convenient at _all_.”

(Virgil hit Roman with a pillow when the creative side compared him to Spider-Man Noir, and Logan’s brain almost imploded when Roman asked him how the alternate universe machine worked, but otherwise hardly anyone responded to the creative side’s comments)

Remus made lewd comments whenever two people were in the same frame, and whenever Roman threw popcorn at the TV, he darted forward to snatch it up and stuff it in his mouth, with _very_ audible chewing. 

This made Roman huff with laughter, and Patton chuckle. Roman yelled at Remus to get away from the TV so they could see, while throwing popcorn at him, which only made Remus eat more, with louder snarfing sounds. This set Patton to giggling harder, and Roman snickered, and even Logan was smiling. Dee didn’t laugh, feeling a bit too anxious around his (very) new family to loosen up that much, although he did smirk and join with throwing the popcorn a couple times.

By the time the movie had reached its climax, it was almost completely forgotten. Patton was chatting with Dee about likes and interests. Dee didn’t have any yet, so it was mostly just Patton firing off suggestions rapid fire, barely giving Dee a chance to say that he liked what he suggested or not. Logan got involved in the conversation, and offered to let Dee borrow some of his books. Dee was planning to take him up on that. He didn’t know much about himself but he did feel a slight tug—like he had when he found out he liked yellow—when Logan mentioned the philosophy books he had.

As the conversation ended, he looked around for Remus. He had noticed him standing around awkwardly, with no one to talk to. He looked shunned. Alone. That felt familiar. A sort of detached familiar, though. He hadn’t been shunned at _all_ in the few hours he had existed, so why…?

Perhaps he was just empathetic.

(That thought rested hollowly in his chest though. That was a lie.)

Dee’s eyebrows drew together as he realized Remus was nowhere to be found. He had just seen him, when he was talking to the glasses gang. 

Dee scanned the room again, “Where’d Remus go?” 

Roman looked up from his conversation with Virgil, “Remus? Oh he probably just went to bed.” The princely side shrugged, “Actually, we should all probably go to bed. It’s pretty late.”

Virgil scoffed, “I’m not tired.”

Roman turned to the embodiment of anxiety and put his hands on his shoulders, “Virgil. You emo bundle of angst and Tumblr. You. Are. Sleep. Deprived. You are _always_ sleep deprived. How much sleep did you get last night?”

Virgil shrugged, “I mean, does blinking count as sleeping?”

“ _Virgil!_ ” Roman scolded, then turned to Dee, “I’m sorry, but I have to take care of this, have a good night!” He turned to Pat, “Care to help me?”

The paternal side sighed, then nodded, “Sure thing, Roman! Good night Dee! Good night, Lo!” 

Then Patton and Roman proceeded to carry a protesting Virgil up the stairs.

Dee turned to Logan, “Does this always happen?” 

Logan adjusted his glasses, “Yes and no. He _does_ often stay up _far_ too late to be healthy, but it has only become an actual problem in the recent weeks.”

“Why?” 

Logan shrugged, “I’m not quite sure. Perhaps Thomas is worried about getting the part in the play he recently auditioned for, and the added anxiety is keeping Virgil up at night.”

As he was talking, Dee noticed that, besides the shrug, Logan’s hands were completely still as he talked. Just hanging at his side. It could’ve passed for a relaxed posture, but Logan would’ve usually adjusted his glasses or tie (Dee didn’t have to know him very long to know _that),_ and his arms were _just_ tense enough that it took muscle to hold them. So even Logan was lying to him. 

_Huh._

But Dee pretended to accept that answer, and he bid Logan good night, and made his way to his room. As he reached his door, he recalled what had happened when he first reached for the knob. It had materialized beneath his fingers. That had been cool, _really_ cool, and now that he knew how to personalize his room…

Dee willed the doorknob away. It disappeared. Tentatively, he reached for where it would be, and saw it reappear. He pulled away, and it disappeared again.

Dee grinned in the darkness. That was _awesome_.

Reaching for the doorknob again, Dee pulled the door open and stepped into his room. It felt too clean, too sterile. The bleak whiteness rubbed against him the wrong way. But that could be fixed in the morning. For now, sleep.

Dee stumbled to his bed and slipped under the cool covers, his eyes closing as he snuggled himself in tight.

And so Dee’s first day of existence ended.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please comment, it gives me more incentive to write!(and I /dearly/ need that) Give me tips, or theories, complaints, or questions! I’ll take them all! You could just tell me what the weather is like where you are! I’ll appreciate it no matter what!
> 
> Also, Happy Birthday to Virgil! I made some fanart on Tumblr if you wanna check it out. My url is @Astronomical_Bagel


	3. Too Bad Snakes Can’t Drink Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! Or, if you don’t celebrate Christmas, happy Hanukkah, or if you don’t celebrate that, happy Candlenights! 
> 
> I got to 50k words on my pre-made chapters, so I decided to celebrate a little, as well as giving you guys a Christmas gift. 
> 
> I hope you’ll like this, and I’ll see you in the next chapter on Friday!

Dee’s first dreams were incoherent and confusing. He saw flashes of yellow gloves, waving an emphasis on a conversation he couldn’t hear. He saw Patton’s disappointed face _(Wait, is he disappointed in_ me _?)_ , and then suddenly they were all wearing...suits? Virgil was yelling at him. ( _Why_ ?) He saw all of his new counterparts, minus Remus, glaring at him. ( _Why are they mad at_ me _?)_

Waking up was a confusing, delirious mess. There was a knock at the door, and he kinda yelled out an answer. His limbs were hopelessly entangled in his blankets, and in his struggle to sit up he fell on the floor. 

_Urrgh._

“Dee?” Patton’s muffled voice came through the door, “Your doorknob is gone.”

“Yeah,” Dee called out as he struggled to stand up. (Although, it was more like “Mraghh,” because he was so out of it)

He stumbled to the door, tripping multiple times because the stupid blanket wouldn’t unrap from around his feet. He reached for his doorknob and pulled the door open, “Yeah?”

Patton looked a little taken aback at the mess that was Dee, “Breakfast is ready.”

Dee raked a hand over his face, “Yeah. Okay. Let’s go.”

Seeming to recover from his surprise at Dee’s dead-insideness, Patton more or less _skipped_ to the kitchen. 

_How the ever living_ fuck _is he so awake?_ Dee thought, somewhat grumpy as he raked his hands over his face again, trying to wake himself up.

Coming into the kitchen and sitting down in the spot he had last night, Dee banged his head on the table. He heard Roman give an amused chuckle, “I think it’s safe to say that you are _not_ a morning person.”

Dee groaned lifting his head to look at Roman, “Waking up is so _hard_.”

Coming down the stairs, Virgil snorted, “Believe me, it gets worse.”

Dee groaned again, and _thunk_ ed his head back onto the table, closing his eyes for a few _blessed_ moments, until Patton prodded a plate against his head.

“Dee, you gotta wake up.” The paternal side said, “I made waffles.”

Dee looked up. The waffles _did_ look delicious. They were golden, and dripping with butter and syrup. 

So he accepted the plate of food and a fork. The first bite was absolute _heaven_. It was even better than last night’s food. Syrup tasted like the nectar of the gods, and waffles were the healing ambrosia.

After the initial bite, Dee attacked the plate, devouring the food with vigor. When he finished, Patton laughed at how fast he had eaten and supplied him with another waffle, which he ate much slower this time.

For a couple seconds the only sound was forks on plates, and then Patton spoke up, “So, Dee, what do you want to do today?”

Dee mulled it over in his head, “What is there to do?”

Patton hummed in thought, “Well, I go on one of Roman’s adventures every so often, or I do some arts and crafts, or go pet a dog…” Patton murmured to himself, “but we can’t really do any of those right now..” after a few more moments of deliberation, he brightened, “You can help me cook!”

Dee nodded, “That sounds like fun.”

Roman huffed, “But _I_ wanted to have him today.”

“Well, you can have him tomorrow.” Patton returned, “But I have him today.”

Roman groaned, “Fiiiinnne.”

Dee felt a smile quirk up on the side of his mouth as he listened to then low-key fight over him. It felt nice, and was a welcome distraction from...his dream.

What was up with that, anyways? First dream in his short existence, and it was full of his new family hating him. (Although he had no idea where the suits came from...they _did_ look quite nice, though)

That dream, coupled with the fact that they were obviously lying to him...it gave him an uneasy feeling about the future.

But that was silly. The dream wasn’t a premonition, or a dark omen. It was just a stupid nightmare, born out of the anxious feelings of being placed in a new world, a new life. That was it. Really.

But that didn’t stop the flash of distrust that coursed through him when Patton smiled at him.

“I gotta clean the dishes and then we can make whatever you want, kay?” The paternal side said.

“Hmm? Yeah, sure.” Dee replied, “Do you want me to help?”

Pat brightened, “Sure, kiddo! It would definitely make it go faster!”

So the two gathered all the dirty dishes and dumped them in the sink. Dee washed, while Patton dried.

As Dee was scrubbing out a particular sticky bit of syrup, Virgil called out, “Hey, Dee, do you need any gloves to wash those?”

Dee looked up, “Um...no? I mean, maybe...why?”

Virgil looked like he was having a hard time keeping his face straight, “Oh, no reason.”

Behind him, Roman snickered, “No reason whatsoever.”

“Kiddos…” Patton said, a warning in his voice.

“What?” Roman said, his face the picture of innocence, “We aren’t doing anything.” He peered closely at Dee, “...I can conjure some for you, if you want.”

Dee was _bewildered,_ “Ummm...no? I don’t...think so?”

They were teasing him about _something,_ but what the _fuck_ was it? He had hardly been alive for a day yet, so where were they getting the comedic material to tease him? 

Roman shrugged at Dee’s declination, and he and Virgil wandered off, after snickering inexplicably a couple more times. 

Soon all the dishes were washed, dried and safely put away. Patton dried his hands one more time on the towel, and Dee followed suit.

“So,” Patton asked, stretching, “what do you wanna make?”

Dee tapped his chin with his finger, “Well, I don’t know. Any suggestions?”

Patton hummed in thought, “We could make casserole...no, that’s just weird, unless…?” He looked up at Dee in question, but Dee shook his head. (He had casserole last night, and he wanted something new. Besides, it seemed a little weird to be making it for fun and not for dinner.)

“What desserts do you know how to make?” Dee suggested.

“Oh!” Patton bounced on his toes, “How about cake?”

That sounded _great,_ so Dee nodded, “Sure.”

Patton gleefully started skipping towards the pantry, but then stopped. He turned around, “But..what kind of cake?” 

Dee chuckled at the devastated expression on Patton’s face. He could already tell that the paternal side had drastic mood swings from minute to minute. It was probably a side effect of being the literal personification of emotions.

“How about a yellow cake?” Dee suggested.

Patton brightened immediately, “To celebrate your favorite color! Dee, that’s perfect!”

Dee shrugged the praise off, but couldn’t stop the tiny smile that appeared on his face. Small praises were still praises, after all.

Pat started skipping into the walk-in pantry again and came rocketing back out with the flower and sugar, setting them on the counter with lightning speed, “Hey, can you get the butter and milk?” He called to Dee, “And the eggs, too.” He disappeared into the pantry again.

Dee blinked at Pat’s speed, but complied, opening up the fridge and scanning for the items as Patton came out balancing the baking powder, vanilla, and salt on each other in a mini tower. Dee _really_ hoped he wouldn’t drop them.

The two set the ingredients on the counter and got out the bowls and stuff (well, it was more Patton than Dee because Dee didn’t know where any of the utensils were). Patton _plopp_ ed the butter in the large mixing bowl and Dee poured the sugar and held the bowl while Patton stirred ferociously with the electric mixer. 

They both wanted to crack the eggs, so they played ro-sham-bo on who would crack the extra one (there were only three needed in the recipe). Dee won, but they both overlooked the fact that Dee had never really cracked an egg before.

“Dee!” Patton giggled as the Dee ruined yet another egg, “We’re going to run out of eggs!”

Dee, who was also overcome by laughter, took a deep breath, “Okay, okay.” He said, trying to calm himself down, “I got this.” He tapped the egg lightly on the counter. It didn’t crack. He tapped harder. It _still_ didn’t crack. “Arrgh!” 

Finally, Dee gave the egg a smart rap on the counter, and a thin line appeared on the white shell. He gave a shout of victory, and held his breath as he carefully pulled it apart above the bowl, letting the egg whites drizzle for a second before setting the shell down.

Patton had fallen silent, and let out a huge breath once Dee had set the egg shell down, “Hooray!” The paternal side shouted, doing a victory spin. He stumbled midway through, giggling and holding the counter for support.

Steadying himself, Patton shook his head, presumably to get rid of the dizziness, and grabbed and egg. To Dee’s consternation, he cracked it in one go.

“What? But how did you— that took me like ten tries!” Dee spluttered incredulously.

Patton smiled warmly at him, “Don’t worry, kiddo. I’ve been crackin’ eggs since Thomas was nine! I’ve had a lot of practice.”

Dee tilted his head slightly, intrigued, “Yeah?”

Patton’s fingers tapped the counter as the paternal side nodded, looking down at them, “Mmhm. It was Thomas’s birthday, or a couple days before it, at least. He wanted to make his own cake for his birthday, and his parents said he could help, because he was a big boy now.” Patton smiled at Dee, “He ended up breaking the rest of the eggs they had in the house.”

Dee snickered, “I guess I really _am_ part of Thomas.”

Patton giggled with him, “They bought like, three more cartons of eggs, because Thomas insisted that he had to do it himself.”

Dee snickered again, “How many eggs did he go through?”

“About six more, and then he threw one at Shea and had to sit in time out for ten minutes.”

Dee had to stop himself from all-out cackling as his instinctual memories supplied that Shea was Thomas’s younger brother. He found it interesting that he didn’t remember that story, although nothing about his body language hinted that it was a lie. Dee hadn’t been around long, but he could tell that all the sides were _horrible_ liars, so perhaps he could only remember memories having to do with his Purpose, whatever it was.

But now wasn’t the time for all of that. Now was the time for having fun with his self-proclaimed father figure. So he tucked away that train of thought away for the time being and handed Patton an egg with a smile. 

— — —

“So, Dee,” Patton said, leaning across the counter after putting the cake in the oven, “tell me about yourself.”

Dee frowned, leaning on the counter as well, “First of all, I don’t know anything about myself, and second of all, didn’t we do this last night?”

Patton grinned at him, “But you don’t answer any of my questions! So,” he shrugged, “I call redo.”

Dee sighed, “Well, what do you want to know about me?”

Pat frowned in concentration, “Well, you don’t know your Purpose, and I already know your favorite color, so what’s your favorite ice cream?”

Dee deliberated for a second, “Let me taste different ice creams and I’ll tell you.”

Patton nodded, grinning brightly, “Fair enough. Favorite food?”

“Meat.” Dee said, then hesitated, “Or waffles.”

“What’s your—“ Patton paused for a second, looking apprehensive, for some reason, “What’s your favorite animal?”

Just then, the oven dinged, signaling that the cake was done. Dee stood up straight (or gay), “I’ll get that.”

He grabbed the oven mitts and gingerly took out the warm cake pan out. He slowly started walking towards the counter, where they had set out those rubber mats that stopped the pans from burning the counter. He mumbled a little as he concentrated on not dropping the surprisingly heavy cak, running different animals through his head.

Cats were cool, and so were dogs, but he didn’t really _connect_ with those. Zebras? Definitely not. A fish or some sort? No...Lizards? While closer, still no. Maybe a…

Dee’s eyes widened, and he gasped as the realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. The cake pan slipped from his fingers, and he distantly heard a shout from behind him. Pain lanced through his head, reminiscent of when he had first heard Thomas’s name, and he doubled over, clutching his head. The left side of his face burned, and his left eye felt like it was being gouged out with a spoon. He almost screamed.

But then the pain was gone, and replaced with a cold, metallic feeling on his face.

Dee sank to his knees, barely registering the fact that the cake wasn’t there. He could hardly hear Patton yelling through the ringing in his ears, and his vision was unfortunately _very_ fuzzy.

Dee barely had enough coherency to remember what he had been about to tell Patton, “Ssnakes.” He told him, his voice slurring oddly, “I _really_ like snakesss.”

His vision tilted horribly, and he was quite sure that his vison turned green. Or yellow. Or blue. Or maybe it was green and he was probably paying too much attention to colors—

“I’m _not_ going to pass out.” Dee announced, then promptly did the opposite and collapsed on the cold tile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got questions? Theories? Did I make a mistake? Wanna tell me what you had for lunch? Wanna yell at me? Go comment!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @Astronomical_Bagel


	4. Snakes can Drink Coffee if They’re not a Coward

Patton felt sick. 

Quite literally, actually. He wasn’t being dramatic or anything. The shock and adrenaline he had felt when he saw Dee’s snake face made him want to throw up.

Patton had always been emotional. That came with being the embodiment of emotions. Right now he felt guilt. And fear. And grief.

And you know...he was sort of in the process of freaking out because Dee had just _passed out in front of him_.

“Guys…” he started, then upped the volume, “ _Guys!_ ”

Roman was there first, sprinting down the hallway, sword in hand. Upon seeing Dee, he paled, then cursed, “ _Shit!_ ”

Patton didn’t even correct him. He was feeling less like a morally correct dad right now and more like Virgil.

“Logan! We require your presence! Um, like now!” Roman yelled, lowering his sword but not sheathing it.

Logan appeared, rising up beside Roman, “What is it _now,_ Roman, I was busy—” Logan stopped talking once he saw the newly snake-ified side, “Fuck.” He said, almost calmly.

As if on cue, Remus popped up, “Shit _and_ fuck? What a day! Would you like—” he faltered when he saw the unconscious side, processing for a few painfully long seconds.

The look on Remus’s face was so emotionally charged that Patton took a step away from him. He was good at reading emotions, and right now he could sense hope, disbelief, fear, and _grief_ in the darker creativity’s expression. Those emotions on a face that usually didn’t have anything more than an immature, cocky demeanor could be very, very dangerous.

Remus screeched, an inhuman, demonic sound, and dove for the snakelike side, “ _Deceit!”_ He cried, cradling the unconscious side’s head in his lap. He immediately started stroking the side’s hair and new scales, searching for injuries.

“Ree,” Roman started, reaching out a hand, “Ree that’s not—that’s not him.”

“Like _fuck_ it isn’t!” Ree snarled, and his teeth snapped dangerously close to Roman’s fingers, and the princely side jerked his hand back.

Remus ignored his twin’s hurt expression, squinting his eyes shut and screeching, “ _Virgil!_ ”

Patton’s little angst cloud appeared on the opposite side of Dee, ripping off his headphones in annoyance, “What do you _want—_ ” Virgil gasped when he saw Dee, and suddenly the room went about ten shades darker and Patton had the urge to hide under the blankets on his bed.

Virgil paid no attention to how his anxiety had spread over to the other sides and grabbed Dee’s hand, a sudden well of tears making tracks through his eyeshadow.

“What the _fuck_ did you do to him?” He spat, his voice distorting.

Patton held his hands up, “I’m sorry! We were talking about our favorite things and we got to the subject of animals and I guess it triggered something! I’m sorry I didn’t think it would hurt him!”

Virgil looked at him, his eyes slowly turning completely black, saying nothing. His face hardly held any recognition in it. Right now, Virgil was almost completely in his primal mode, his posture declaring war on anyone who got too close.

Unfortunately, Roman had apparently decided to push his luck.

“Virgil,” Roman said, stepping closer, “We gotta get him on the couch, so we can take care of him, okay? He’s going to be fine.”

But the reassuring words seemed to have the opposite effect that wa needed on Virgil. The anxious side hissed, pressing back and clutching Dee with an even tighter grip, “Don’t you fucking _touch_ him. _”_ He snarled.

Spider legs, large and dark, sprouted from Virgil’s back and slammed into the ground, making a wall in between them, caging the trio in a protective shield. Three smaller pairs of black, black eyes opened beneath Virgil’s regular ones, and Patton could see the tips of Virgil’s canines peeking out of Virgil’s mouth like a saber-toothed tiger.

All of Virgil’s eyes were looking in the same direction. Patton followed his line of sight to Roman’s sword, which still hung loosely in the princely side’s hand. Roman’s eyes widened as he realized this at the same time Patton did, and he dropped his beloved sword as if it had burned him, kicking it behind him.

“Virgil I—” Roman cut himself off and took in a deep breath, then continued in a calmer voice, “I’m not going to hurt you. Or Dee. Or _anyone_.” 

Roman stressed the last part, looking at Remus, but his twin was still hunched over Dee, cradling him protectively.

Virgil responded, though. He pressed back even further, his spider legs drawing in closer into a ball around the three. He hissed again, showing off his elongated and sharpened teeth.

It was then that Patton _really_ noticed how they were separated. 

Virgil, Remus, and Dee.

Patton, Roman, and Logan.

Dark against light.

_No._

They had agreed! They had agreed after Deceit had—had—they had agreed that there were no more “Dark sides”, no more “Light sides”. They were _all_ Thomas!

Patton stepped forward, ignoring the bolt of fear that shot down his spine at seeing Virgil’s spider legs, “Virgil.” He called out, “Virgil, you’re alright. Everyone’s alright. I want to help, kiddo, but you’re going to have to let me come closer.”

Virgil’s head whipped towards him, his multiple eyes unblinking, and it broke Patton a little to see his face infused with so much fear. In this state, he wouldn’t be able to recognize anybody, his body in such a fight-flight-protect state that he saw everything as a threat.

“Virgil.” Patton said in the most calm voice he could summon, “Kiddo, do you think you could breathe for a sec? In for four, hold for seven, and out for eight?”

Virgil’s eyes all blinked at him, each one slightly out of unison. He facial expression didn’t change, but he could see his chest moving slightly in time to the beat. 

That was good, and Pat told him so, “That’s right, kiddo, you’re doing great. That’s good, breathe.” Patton breathed in time to the four-seven-eight beat, letting Virgil adjust his breathing to his.

He took a slow step further, watching Virgil closely for any signs of lashing out. The side tensed, but otherwise stayed staring at Patton. He took another step further. He was close enough to touch Virgil’s spider legs now. He reached out, his fingers just brushing the fine hairs on the exoskeleton of Virgil’s leg. A shudder ran along Virgil’s body, but he didn’t attack. Either the anxious side was letting him get closer on purpose, or he was so terrified he was paralyzed. He took another step, passing the legs and entering the cage the Virgil had created.

The spiderlike side hissed, low and threatening. Patton took one last step forward, his heart going into overdrive as he neared the epicenter of Virgil’s anxious energy. 

“Virgil?” He asked hesitantly, shaking with a fear that wasn’t really his, “Dee is _safe._ He’s fine. But we need to get him to the couch and make him comfortable for when he wakes up.”

Despite his words, Virgil started hyperventilating again, tightening his grip on the snakelike side.

“Hey, hey.” Patton said, “It’s fine. I’m not going to hurt you.” He paused, then asked, “May I touch you?”

Virgil didn’t reply. Patton wasn’t sure if he could quite understand what he was saying.

“That’s alright.” He told him, trying to infuse his voice with calm and loving tone, trying to hide the fact that he was two tics away from turning tail, “I can just sit here. Remember to breathe with me, okay?”

Several long moments passed as Patton counted the seconds, and suddenly Virgil shuddered.

“ _Patton?”_ Virgil asked, his voice almost distorted beyond recognition.

Patton almost cried with relief, “That’s right, kiddo. May I touch you now?”

Virgil nodded almost imperceptibly, and Patton wasted no time in grabbing his hand, and rubbing his thumb over it comfortingly, subtly making Virgil’s death grip on Dee loosen. His other hand cupped Virgil’s face, his thumb wiping away some of the flood of tears that had poured out of his eight eyes.

“Virgil, can you tell me five things you can see?” Patton asked.

Virgil’s eyes blinked, then darted around the room, “ _You,”_ Virgil said slowly, his voice still distorted, “ _Dee_ ,” his eyes looked to behind Patton, and they all widened, “ _My—my leGS.”_ Virgil looked back to Patton, then back to his spider legs. His free hand touched his face, feeling the extra eyes and the elongated, sharpened teeth, “ _Oh god I’m sorry I didn’t mean to I swear I’ll—“_

“Hey, hey,” Patton put both his hands on his face, “It’s alright. I—I’m not mad.” He offered, and this time, the placating had the desired effect. Virgil relaxed, his breathing slowing and his eyes focusing once more.

“ _You’re—you’re not mad?”_ He asked, his voice still distorted, but small. It broke Patton’s heart to hear the brokenness in Virgil’s voice.

“Of _course_ I’m not mad.” Patton told him, “Your response was perfectly natural. But you still have to name two more things that you see.”

Virgil looked behind Patton again, and then to his left, “ _I-I see Roman. And Logan. And Remus_.”

That was three more things, but that was okay, “Now name four things you can hear.” Patton told Virgil.

“ _My breathing,”_ Virgil said, some of the distortion leaving his voice, “ _and my heartbeat. And all of your breathing and heartbeats_.” 

Patton heard Logan explaining to Roman how spiders have outstanding hearing for their size, in a whisper.

“That’s good, now can you tell me three things that you can feel?” Patton asked.

“ _My hoodie.”_ Virgil started, cleared his throat and continued in a normal voice, “—My hoodie, um, my legs, and your hand.”

The lack of distortion was a huge step in the right direction. Patton grinned, “You’re doing great, kiddo, now two things you can smell.”

Virgil inhaled deeply through his nose, “I can smell waffles. And the hot chocolate you spilled on your cardigan a couple days ago.”

Pat heard Logan whispering to Roman how good spiders’ sense of smell was. He ignored them and focused on Virgil.

“And one last thing you can taste.” He told Virgil.

“Blood.” Virgil said, after licking his lips.

A bolt of alarm ran through Patton, “Blood?” He asked, his heart in his throat.

Virgil opened his mouth to show Patton how his elongated teeth had left long scratches on his lips and upper chin, and how the sudden thickening had injured his gums as well.

“It’s fine.” The anxious side said quickly, seeing Patton’s small panic over the blood, “It doesn’t hurt right now.”

Patton’s brow furrowed, “But still…” 

Beside him, Roman’s outfit rustled as he kneeled down next to him, “Hey, Padre. Virgil’s fine now, but you should check on Dee.”

Patton nodded, “Right.”

He turned his attention to the newly snake-ified side next to him. Remus was still clutching him to his chest, although his grip had loosened.

“Um, Remus?” Patton asked, “Do you think you could let go of Dee for me?”

“I don’t have any hands.” Remus said sadly.

“Uh—what?” Patton blinked, then looked down, “Oh.”

Remus’s arms had morphed into rubbery, pale green tentacles, from somewhere around the biceps and down. 

“Here—wait, I got this,” Roman said, appearing next to his twin. Virgil was tucked in against his right arm and chest, his eight eyes blinking nervously and his spider legs clutching Roman.

Roman peeled Remus’s arm-tentacle-things off of Dee with four or five sickening popping noises. He threw the limb around his shoulder and helped his brother stand up, “C’mon, Ree. Let’s go sit somewhere else and let Pat and Lo do their job.”

— — —

Roman was currently freaking out, and it definitely had nothing to do with the fact that he could feel Virgil’s heartbeat through his shirt.

Okay, maybe it had a _little_ to do with that.

And also had probably had to do with the fact that Virgil had sprouted frikin’ spider legs not five minutes before and they were now curling around Roman, making sure that Roman wouldn’t drop him. The anxious side’s real arms were squeezed around his midsection, allowing Virgil to bury his face in Roman’s chest.

The moment could’ve _almost_ passed for romantic, if not for Remus, who was also hanging on him, his arms octo-fied and uncomfortable against his neck, and the fact that they were both sobbing.

But it was worth it if he got to comfort the both of them. He was Prince Roman, hero to all guys, gals, and non-binary pals, after all. He supposed that also included crying spider and octopus people.

Speaking of the Animal Bois, he was just now realizing that they were both crying into his shirt. Well, he was already aware of this fact, but he what was _actually_ realizing was that they both wore a remarkable amount of black makeup around their eyes. And they were crying. Onto his white shirt.

_Oh well._

Roman stroked Virgil’s hair with his left hand. Or rather, he _tried_ to stroke his hair as well as he could with Remus pinning his elbow to his side. Anyways, Virgil’s hair got pets, and Roman realized that Virgil was actually pretty tall in this form. While they were all the same dude (to an extent), they all had heights that they rested at, and they more or less represented what they were or whatever.

In comparison to Thomas, Roman was a couple inches taller, while Virgil was a couple inches smaller. This made an at least six inch difference between them, but right now Virgil might actually be taller than Roman.

It didn’t make Virgil too much harder to hold, now that they were sitting, but it helped that his spider legs were holding on to Roman, too, so Virgil didn’t fall.

Remus hadn’t changed at all in size, so he was still about the same height as Roman. His arms felt really weird, though. They were all rubbery and sticky. Roman had seen him when he was almost fully an octopus. He had had three more pairs of arms, and he was _fast_ in the water. Right now, though, he could barely lift his limbs. Roman was sure that the only reason he didn’t transform fully was the fact that they were on land. If he had transformed, he would literally be a fish out of water and he would probably die. 

So yes, he was _very_ glad Remus hadn’t gone fully octopus on him.

A shudder from Virgil brought Roman back from his inner commentary. He looked down at the arachnian side in his arms, worry creasing his brows, “Virge? You good, man?”

Virgil looked up at Roman, his eyes all blinking at slightly different times. It was truly fascinating to watch. Virgil sniffed, “Yeah, I’m fine, just—” he shuddered again, and his spider legs twitched on Roman’s back.

Virgil squeezed his eyes shut and gave one last shudder, and the spider legs flailed, then retreated into the anxious side’s back with a sickening cracking sound. Roman leaned away from Virgil as much as he could during the process, not wanting to get in the way of the legs.

Virgil turned his head, looking away from Roman’s face, “Sorry.”

Roman tilted his head, confused, “Sorry for what?”

Virgil shrugged as well as he could with his arms still wrapped around Roman’s waist, “I don’t know, for becoming a giant spider-person? For yelling at you? Not trusting you when you said you wouldn’t hurt anyone? Pick and choose one, Princey.” He sniffed and buried his face into Roman’s shirt. 

“Virgil…” Roman sighed, and he ran his fingers through Virgil’s hair again, “I’m not blaming you for freaking out. As Patton said, your response was perfectly normal. Why would I be mad at you for doing your job?”

Virgil shrugged but didn’t say anything else. Roman could tell that something was still bugging him, but he let the subject drop.

“Hey, Remus, are you okay?” Roman nudged his brother with his still-trapped elbow.

Remus looked up from the black splotch he had made on Roman’s shirt, his makeup running down his face and getting caught in his mustache, along with a copious amount of snot, “No-o-ooo—” Remus slammed his face down into his shirt, sobbing with renewed vigor.

“No—Remus—don’t,” Virgil said, looking up from Roman’s shirt, “if you start crying again, I’ll cry again too—aw shit.” Virgil unwrapped an arm from Roman’s side and scrubbed at his face, wiping away the tears that were forming.

But it was a losing battle, and soon the anxious side hiccuped and buried his face in Roman’s shirt once more, “Nevermind, carry on.” Virgil said, his voice quavering, and he gave one last sniff before letting out a loud series of sobs.

Roman sighed, “Look, if we go to the room where Logan and Pat are taking care of Dee, would you guys calm down and stuff?”

The two crying sides both gave noncommittal shrugs.

Roman sighed again, “Well, we’re going.”

He hefted himself up, groaning with the effort. Remus hung off his side, letting his feet drag on the floor.

“Remus—do you think you could stand up?” Roman begged, “You’re choking me.”

“Nooooo,” Remus whined, and he instead wrapped his legs around Roman’s waist. 

Roman almost fell from the sudden shifting of weight, “What—ack! Dude! Give a guy some warning!” Roman gave a Remus half-hearted glare, then looked down at Virgil, “An you are going to have to shift your weight or _something,_ because you’re slipping _fast_. This was a lot easier when you had your spider legs.”

Virgil looked up, glaring (although the angry effect was lost somewhere in the tears and snot), “Well, too bad, because you’re _not_ getting them.”

“Then just shift your weight!” Roman begged, “My arm is _killing_ me.”

Virgil huffed, then slung his arm around Roman’s neck, which did help, but now Virgil’s hair was tickling Roman’s face. Well, with the two in this state, there was no way he was convincing them to put any more effort in, so this was the best he was going to get.

Roman walked—well, _galumphed_ — over to the living room, where Pat and Lo had set Dee on the couch and were now sitting on the chairs by him, waiting for him to wake up.

Patton and Logan both sat up expectantly as Roman made his way in the living room Patton had a humorous glint in his eyes, but held a finger to his lips instead of making a joke. 

Logan, catching Roman’s questioning expression, whispered, “Dee is no longer in a comatose state, he is just sleeping naturally, so we might want to be a bit quiet.”

Roman nodded and plopped himself and his passengers onto the other couch that they had. Remus made a noise of protest and wiggled around so he was more comfortable. Virgil looked up, his crying ceased for now, and he rubbed all of eyes, one at a time. 

The anxious side rolled off of Roman’s lap and walked over to where Dee was laying. He kneeled by then couch, watching the serpentine side breathe slowly, “He just—looks so much like him.” Virgil whispered.

Logan got up slowly and cautiously put his hand on Virgil’s shoulder, voice soft with sympathy, “But he’s not him, you know that, right?” 

Virgil nodded, saying nothing, just watching Dee breathe.

Now it was Remus who stood up to watch Dee. It was a bit of a struggle for him, since his arms were just dead weight. But make it he did, and he sat down heavily on the floor, staring at Dee. Roman could see his expression, but his shoulders were slumped. Remus almost _never_ slumped his shoulders. He always held them slightly higher than most people did. Sometimes his shoulders were right by his ears. It was a habit that usually that got on Roman’s nerves, but the absence of it just looked...sad.

Roman stood up hesitantly. It really did hurt him to see his twin so despondent. They didn’t always get along so well, but the _grief_ that Remus was showing right now—he would do _anything_ to get his happy, inappropriate, slightly unhinged brother back.

Remus abruptly stood up, stamping his foot, arms flapping uselessly by his sides, “It’s not _fair_ !” He said, voice loud, Virgil looked up in alarm, making frantic shushing noises, but Remus ignored him, “ _He_ shouldn’t be here! It shouldn’t be him!”

Roman reached out a hand in the direction of his twin, “Remus…”

Remus whipped around, his arms slapping against each other, “ _What?_ ” He snarled savagely, and Roman took a step back, “Do you think I’m just going to let him be _erased_? That’s what you want, isn’t it? Out of sight, out of mind?”

Roman held his hands up in a half-placating, half-surrendering gesture, “No, of _course_ that’s not it.”

“Then what _is?_ ” Remus demanded, and he turned to Logan, not giving Roman time to answer, “And what about _you,_ genius? Why can’t we talk about him? Why can’t we let _him_ know about him? Why are you just trying to _forget_ him?”

“Why aren’t you saying his name?” Virgil asked from the floor, anger bleeding into his voice, “Just call him what he is— _was_ ,” Virgil’s voice hitched as he corrected himself, “just call him Deceit.”

Remus stiffened at the name, and then just seemed to fall apart all at once. One moment he was standing, all angry and fierce, and the next he was sobbing on the floor, broken.

Roman rushed to his brother, hugging him tight, stroking his hair, trying every comforting gesture he knew, anything to make Remus feel better. His twin clung to him, shaking and hiccuping.

Several moments passed, and the only sounds were Remus’s sobs and Roman’s quiet, comforting shushing noises. 

Logan’s shirt rustled as he crouched down next to the twins, “Remus…” he said carefully, then looked to Virgil, “And Virgil. I know you don’t quite understand why I have asked everyone to suddenly not talk about...Deceit, but I _swear_ to you that it is very important. And we can’t talk about it now,” —Logan looked over to the unconscious Dee—“...but I _promise_ that we will talk, and we will talk soon.” Logan made a movement as if to stand up, but he hesitated, then put a hand on Remus’s shoulder, “And I know you probably won’t believe me, but I miss him too, we _all_ miss him.”

With that, the logical side stood up, brushing off his pants with a sigh. Remus had stopped full-out sobbing, and now he was sniffling with his face buried in Roman’s neck. Roman ran his fingers through his twin’s hair, and gave Logan a sad smile.

As the logical side returned to his seat, Roman looked over to check up on Virgil. The anxious side was hunched over, tears leaking out of his many eyes and making splotches on his pants. 

Roman opened an arm to him, inviting Virgil into the hug, “C’mere, emo.”

Virgil sniffed and scooched over so he was closer to Roman and leaned into the hug. As he did, he laughed a bit, “I’ve cried a lot today, haven’t I?” Virgil said, scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeves.

Roman chuckled as well, “God, Dee is going to be _so_ weirded out when he wakes up.”

“Actually, that could be a problem,” Logan adjusted his glasses from where he sat, “Dee has already shown an incredible amount of curiosity, as well as profound insight and deduction. He will ask questions.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” Roman asked, “Lie?”

Logan sighed, “Well, in a word, yes. And don’t say anything.” Logan stood up and whirled around to point a finger at Patton, whose mouth was open in objection, “I know. I _know_ what you’re going to say. Yes, I _know_ that lying is wrong, and yes, I _know_ that every time one of us has tried to keep something from the rest it has backfired horribly, and no, I have still not learned my lesson, apparently, because I _am_ suggesting it.”

“But you said yourself, Dee is really perceptive! What will you do when he finds out we’re lying?” Patton protested, “He might lose his trust in us!”

“It’s a risk we have to take.” Logan insisted, “I don’t want to talk about right in front of him, though; he might wake up.”

“But how long will he have to keep up the lie?” Virgil asked from beside Roman, “Do we just lie to cover up Deceit’s existence for _forever?_ That sounds _exhausting,_ and Dee’s _bound_ to find out. Why prevent the inevitable?” 

Logan made a noise that was somewhere between a huff and a sigh, furiously rubbing the bridge of his nose, “Well, I guess we _are_ talking about it now.” Annoyance filled his tone, “Even though I said we should _wait,_ but hey, if Dee wakes up in the middle of our conversation and hears us and then Thomas’s personality slowly decays and we all die, it’s not _my_ fault now, is it?”

Roman raised an eyebrow, “Woah, calm down, Psycho Brahe, is Virgil’s little anxious energy burst thing still affecting you?”

Logan made a noise of frustration, “Yes? No? I don’t know. Arrgh!” 

Logan sat down in his chair heavily, ripping off his glasses and setting them on the coffee table as he rubbed his eyes and temples. He took a few deep breaths as Patton reached over and patted his arm.

When Logan next looked up his face was a bit more controlled and neutral, “Do _all_ of you feel like you understand right this _very_ second?”

Logan’s face fell as Virgil and Patton both made noises of affirmation and Remus nodded. He looked at Roman, expression pleading and Roman shrugged, somewhat pitiful, “Sorry, Specs, but I do too.”

Logan sighed, “Fine then.” He put his glasses back on, “Well, to begin, I would like to bring up the reactions he had to certain objects. You all recall the reaction he had to sunflowers?”

The rest of the sides nodded, and Logan continued, “Well, there are multiple of those triggers, or stimuli. Some aspect of him changes when he encounters one. Dee changed his shirt color to yellow he saw the sunflowers, and he acquired a serpentious form when he thought about snakes.”

“Doesn’t that mean Deceit’s still in there somewhere?” Vigil asked, and Logan shook his head.

“Not necessarily.” The logical side said, “Think of it like this: when you lose blood, you body creates more. It doesn’t make skin cells or anything else; it makes blood cells, but that does not mean they are the _same_ blood cells. I believe that Dee is a similar case. He has the opportunity to function as Thomas’s deceit, yes, but he is not _Deceit._ As of right now, he is a blank slate.”

Roman spoke up, “But how does this relate to his response to the triggers and stuff?”

“I’m getting there.,” Logan said, adjusting his glasses, “Because of these predetermined triggers, mentioning a purpose, such as deceit, could artificially make him the side of deceit.”

“Wait! We want that! We want Deceit back!” Remus sat up in Roman’s lap, almost hitting Roman in the face.

Logan shook his head, “That’s not what would happen. I said _artificially,_ which means he wouldn’t be suited for the job, and that lack of balance would cause the mindscape to implode on itself, which would break Thomas’s sanity and kill us all.”

_Oh_.

The sides all looked at each other, finally realizing the weight of the situation. Roman felt a little sick at how he could have ruined everything with one word, and he could tell the others felt the same.

“So how do we get him to _authentically_ find his purpose?” Roman ventured.

Logan adjusted his glasses, “Well, he would have to discover it in an authentic situation that Thomas was in.”

“So what happens after that?” Virgil asked, “Would he be Deceit again? With all his memories?”

Logan adjusted his glasses with a nervous sort of hum, “I—I do not know the answer to that. There is a possibility—but I don’t want to get our hopes up. Deceit—Deceit _died._ It’s hard to tell what will happen. There is a chance that he could become something other than Deceit, such as Self-Preservation.”

Virgil sat up, leaving a cold spot where he had been leaning on Roman. Roman couldn’t see his face, but he could guess that Logan was now being glared at with eight eyes, “Wait, _I’m_ self-preservation! He can’t take my spot!”

“Self-preservation has a wide spectrum.” Logan said simply, “And I was only using it as an example. But there is a set theme to what Dee is going to be, as to replace what was lost, as I have already stated. Is that enough for now?”

Roman hummed, scratching his neck where Remus’s tentacle/arm things were still resting, “So, to recap, we can’t suggest Dee’s purpose, because what he encounters affects what he is, and if we suggest a purpose, he will become something that’s he’s not supposed to be, and we’ll all die, and so now we have to wait an indefinite amount of time before we drop the lie.”

Logan nodded, “Well, that is an extremely simple way to put it, but yes.”

Roman nodded back, absentmindedly stroking Remus’s hair, “So how will we explain Remus’s and Virgil’s… animalification?”

“I think the word you are looking for is _zoomorphism_.” Logan corrected, “And I believe that we could just say that, as Anxiety, Virgil, ah...freaked out, as you say it, when he saw Dee on the floor, and his energy of heightened anxiety affected Remus and made him partially gain the likeness of an octopus. That isn’t too far from the truth.”

“How long will you stay like that?” Patton asked Virgil from where he sat.

Virgil scratched the back of his neck, “Well, the legs go away pretty quickly, and usually they can go away lay on command, but the eyes go away on their own,” he shrugged, “It depends how anxious I was at the time, so this is probably going to last until tomorrow morning.”

“My arms stay like this for a long time.” Remus said, arms still wrapped around Roman’s neck. His voice was subdued, and he didn’t explain further like he usually would. 

Roman explained for his twin, “When his arms transform on their own they don’t disappear for a day at least, and we have to water them so they don’t dry out. He can’t hold his arms up when he’s not in water, so I pretty much carry him everywhere and feed him and stuff.”

“Fascinating.” Logan said, “Can he grow multiple arms?”

Roman nodded, and was about to reply, but Virgil interrupted him, “Hold up. Before we change the subject, you still haven’t clarified something; is Dee Deceit or not? Does he just have amnesia or is he a new being?”

Logan frowned as he adjusted his glasses, “Well—both, I think? It _could_ be him, but when you are a side, and you don’t remember anything, does that still make you _you_ ? I don’t know how this all works. I think—I think we just have to accept the fact the Deceit is gone. He _died,_ Virgil. I don’t think _anyone_ —even a side—can come back from that.”

Roman saw Virgil’s shoulders drop, “Okay.” His voice quavered. Roman patted him on the shoulder, feeling a lump in his throat himself.

“Roman,” Remus said, voice quiet, “my arms are getting dry.”

“Well, if you get off me, I can summon a spray bottle.” Roman replied.

Roman’s twin rolled off him, groaning dramatically. Roman rolled his eyes and waved his hand, and suddenly he was holding a spray bottle. Remus laid out flat and Roman helped him extend his arms to their fullest length so he wouldn’t miss a spot. His arms were a foot longer than normal like this, and they barely had any room to lay them out. Logan was fascinated by this, but Virgil, who had seen this done several times, was done with it all, so he got out of the way and climbed onto the couch.

As Roman spritzed his brother’s arms, he heard Virgil ask, “So what do we do now?”

“I suppose all was _can_ do is wait.” Came the logical answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can yell at me in the comments OR on Tumblr @Astronomical_Bagel


	5. Piece of Cake (But Not Really)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I can’t belive I haven’t posted in a decade!
> 
> New Years‘ jokes aside, this is a little later than usual but still technically on time, I guess. I haven’t been busy or anything, just lazy. My creativity meter seems to be cranked down to like...two this week.
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Dee decided that regaining consciousness was one of the worst things on earth.

_Don’t get me wrong,_ Dee thought, _living is great, but sleep is just so much_ better.

What was concerning, though, was that he could vaguely recall that he had not fallen asleep in his bed, and more rather directly after dropping—

“The cake!” Dee sat straight up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed (couch?), and he unfortunately got his legs tangled in a blanket and faceplanted on the floor in his haste.

_Yes._ Dee decided, his nose throbbing, _Sleep is_ much _better_.

“Woah!” A voice came from his left, “You okay, kiddo?” Dee heard a rustling, then quick footsteps to where he laid.

Warm hands helped him to his feet, and suddenly Dee was face-to-face with his self-proclaimed father figure.

“Hello.” Dee said genially, “Is the cake alright?”

Patton‘s laugh seemed to bubble up right from his toes, gaining momentum until it burst out his mouth, “Yes, kiddo. It’s on the counter.” His face became more serious, “But are _you_ alright?”

“Yes,” Dee said, rubbing his left eye, which seemed to have an eyelash in it, “Why wouldn’t I be?” His face seemed stiff from sleep.

Patton hesitated, “Um, well, how about you sit down, and I can wake the others and _then_ we can talk about that?”

Dee nodded, his curiosity piqued, “Okay, then.” He sat down and folded his hands on his lap, eyeing the others in the room. It appeared that they had all fallen asleep waiting for him to wake up. 

Logan was in an armchair, his glasses and a book set neatly on the coffee table next to him. Roman, Remus, and Virgil were on the other couch, Remus and Virgil using Roman as both a pillow and a mattress.

Dee did a double take as he saw Remus’s arms. They were unnaturally long, and they were _green_. He also seemed to be missing hands.

_First of all,_ Dee thought, _what the fuck. And second of all, what the_ fuck?

As Dee was silently freaking out, Patton was shaking Logan awake, “Lo,” he whispered, “he’s awake.”

Logan seemed to wake up easily, immediately grabbing his glasses, and Pat moved on to wake up the trio on the couch.

“Kiddos!” He said, much louder this time, “It’s time to wake up!”

They didn’t wake up nearly as easily as Logan did. They were a huge mess of complaining, stretching limbs, groaning and yawing, half-awake blinking, and— _holy_ shit _does Virgil have eight_ _eyes?_

Dee blinked incredulously, a disbelieving almost-smile forming on his face, _This is fine._ He thought, recalling a certain meme Thomas was a fan of.

Dee rubbed his left eye again. He must’ve done something to it earlier, because everything looked weird when he looked out of it.

Patton, deeming everyone awake enough for a conversation, turned back to Dee, “Now then! Hello!”

“Hello,” Dee returned, “haven’t we already done this?”

Patton laughed nervously, “Yes, I suppose we have.”

“Okay.” Dee said, a sort of almost but not quite panicked air to his form as he stared at the two not-quite-human-like sides, “Then do you think you could tell me why the _everliving fuck_ does Virgil have _eight_ eyes? And why Remus’s arms are now _green_?”

“Language.” Patton said sternly, “And um, you see—” he coughed, then looked at Logan, “Do you think you could explain?”

“Certainly,” Logan adjusted his glasses, “When Virgil saw you unconscious on the floor, his anxiety levels heightened, and he unconsciously partially morphed into a spider,”

“I have really big spider legs that come out of my back.” Virgil offered, his eight eyes—which were all an unnerving black—blinking in slight disunison. Deceit noted that he had long scratches extending down from his mouth to his chin. He looked like a puppet, or some creepypasta character.

“Yes,” Logan said, sounding annoyed at being interrupted, “he did indeed have spider legs before. Anyways, when he is in a state of heightened anxiety, he emanates an anxious energy, which Remus was affected by, and his arms gained the likeness of an octopus’s tentacles.”

“I can’t feel my arms!” Remus grinned at him cheerfully, kicking the couch with the heels of his feet. Dee smiled weakly at him.

“Do you all have... zoomorphic tendencies?” Dee asked, trying to clear his left eye again, the skin around it oddly cold.

“No, only Remus and Virgil do.” Logan said, then he hesitated, “Well, Remus, Virgil, and _you._ ”

Dee’s hand dropped from his eye in confusion, “What? No. I’m not—I mean, I don’t have—”

“Dee,” Patton said, his voice apprehensive, “do you want to look in a mirror?”

Dee stared at him. Did he want a mirror? Well, to be honest, no. He was terrified of what he was going to see, but he nodded anyways, a short, tight nod.

A mirror, summoned by Roman, was thrust into his hands, and then Dee was staring back at himself. His eyes were wide, his hair unkempt. He had a little scratch on his right cheek.

He _also_ had scales covering the left side of his face, running down and stopping by his jaw. His eye was a bright yellow, and the skin underneath, (where his eye bags would be) was a light pink. 

The mirror fell from his hands as his attention moved to his arms. They, too had splotches of scales running up and down them. He suddenly wished he as wearing long sleeves.

In vain, Dee tried to settle his breathing as he tested out his golden eye. He was right, something was wrong with it. The world he saw was mainly blue, with spots of red, green, and blue where his counterparts stood.

Dee pressed his lips together, sucking in a deep breath through his nose, desperately controlling his face into a more calm expression, “What happened?” He asked, and he was pleased to hear his voice shake only slightly.

Patton’s voice was cautious, “Sometimes, we can’t really control how we appear. When you thought of snakes, it triggered something, and then you fell and…” the fatherly side gestured helplessly.

“A snake…” Dee picked up the mirror again, his hand trailing over his scales. He _did_ like snakes, he found, he _loved_ them. 

But that didn’t mean he wanted to _be_ one. 

Dee looked up from the mirror to Logan, “Why is my eye all messed up?”

“What’s wrong with your eye?” Logan leaned forward in his seat.

Dee was making sure that his face was neutral, and almost uninterested, but he couldn’t stop his hand from grabbing the seat of the couch, squeezing it until he could feel his knuckles turning white.

“I’m not seeing out of it right.” Dee said, panic making his breath shallow. He dug his nails of his other hand, which were much longer now, into the palm of his hand. He had to keep it together.

Logan, thank goodness, didn’t seem to notice Dee’s panic, and instead adjusted his glasses and said, “Is your sight diminished, or just altered?”

Dee squinted out of his now golden eye, “It’s all blue and stuff—and you guys are all red? And yellow?”

Logan emitted a soft gasp of realization, and possibly excitement, “Some large snakes have infrared vision. Do you think that is the case with you?” He said, with as much feeling as his near robotic voice could get.

Dee was going to reply, and possibly test it out, but was interrupted by Virgil.

“Hold up, Specs,” Virgil got up from the couch he was on and plopped himself down next to Dee, “You really gotta slow down, dude. Dee’s already overwhelmed as it is, give him some time to process.”

“Ah.” Logan said, adjusted his glasses for the _billionth_ time, “I apologize, Dee. I suppose I did get ahead of himself.”

“It’s fine.” Dee told him, and _dammit_ he couldn’t _breathe_ and he had _scales_ on his _face_ and he couldn’t _see_ and—

“Hey,” Virgil said, tugging on his sleeve, “let’s go make the frosting for the cake.”

And with that, he yanked Dee to his feet and dragged him to the kitchen, away from the rest of the sides. Virgil immediately put his hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eyes, “Hey. Breathe.”

Dee gave a shaky laugh, “Am I that obvious?”

“Nah,” Virgil assured him, “but dude, I could _taste_ your panic from five feet away.”

“Uh. What?” Dee furrowed his eyebrows.

“It’s a side thing.” Virgil told him, “As Anxiety, I can sense other’s anxiety. Not what they’re anxious _about_ , but I can usually guess.” Virgil looked at him through his bangs, his eight eyes worried, “Are you okay?”

Dee snorted, “Am I okay? Sure, yeah. I’m okay. I’m just _so totally fine_ . I have scales for a face, but yeah, I’m just _fine_.”

“Well, I guess I asked for that,” Virgil muttered under his breath, then said aloud in a normal tone, “but you might want to get yourself under control, because they’re bound to come soon.”

Dee raked his hands over his face, trying to calm himself. His scales were cold against his warm hand. _Damn_ , had it always been this cold? Because he was cold. Very, very cold. Cold as if it was snowing outside. And the windows were open. And he was eating ice cream.

Okay, so maybe not _that_ much, but he was still freezing. He shivered.

“You cold?” Virgil asked, “I could help you make a jacket, if you want.”

“It’s not that bad.” Dee told Virgil, lying through his teeth. It _was_ pretty bad, but he didn’t want to inconvenience him or anything, y’know?

Virgil looked suspicious, but didn’t question it, “Okay.” He paused a bit, “You up for actually making the frosting? I think the others are going to wait until we do.”

“Um...okay.” Dee agreed. It couldn’t hurt to finish the cake. He _was_ interested in how it had turned out.

Virgil shrugged at him, eight eyes each blinking slightly out of turn, “I actually don’t know how to make frosting.”

“Well, neither do I!” Dee said, his tone laced with that almost insane kind of cheerfulness, “We’re probably going to die.”

“Perfect.” Virgil grinned, “Let’s go die, then.” 

And with that overly-dramatic line, Virgil marched off to go grab the powdered sugar.

— — —

So perhaps dying was an overstatement, but if it was, it wasn’t by much. About an hour later, sugar covered the counters, their hands were covered in dye, and there were dozens of dishes in the sink.

So apparently, the others had fallen asleep. (They probably got bored or something) Dee had been shocked when he had seen it was two in the morning, and Virgil had told him he had been out for nine-something hours. (“Logan said it had something to do with all the keratin your body had to make.” Virgil had explained, “It really took a toll on your body, and that’s why you passed out.”) 

They didn’t want to wake the rest of the sides up, so Virgil had made a force-field thing (which was friggen _awesome,_ by the way) to block the sound they were making. (After that, Virgil’s extra eyes faded and Dee almost screamed. There was nothing like watching someone’s eyes melt off like hot wax to get your blood pumping, amiright?)

(“How many powers do you even have?” Dee had asked incredulously, “You’re almost OP.”

“Meh.” Virgil had replied, shrugging, “We’re figments of Thomas’s imagination. We can do almost anything. And you should see Roman and Remus. They’re almost invincible when they’re in the Imagination.”)

They _really_ had no idea how to make frosting, so Virgil had looked it up. (He also explained to Dee how they each had phones, and taught him how to summon his, which was pretty cool.) They somehow managed to make the frosting (they obviously made it yellow, with a little black for accenting), but they had decided to make some fondant so they could make a little green snake as a decoration. 

Fondant, for those who don’t know this, is _very_ hard to make. For one, it is _very_ sticky, and neither of them had put shortening the fondant before messing with it, despite the warning the website had given them, so most of the fondant had been lost to the counter and the continuous kneading. The kneading was tough, too, and their fingers were sore long before it was pliable. They didn’t put it in the fridge, either, because it was almost three o’clock in the morning and they wanted to get it done. That made the fondant too soft and almost impossible to work with.

“Arrgh!” Virgil cried as the snake he had flattening with the rolling pin deformed once again, “This is _literally_ impossible!”

Dee scrolled viciously through the recipe website, “It says here that it’s like Play-doh! Well, _why_ isn’t it acting like Play-doh?”

“Ah, screw this! I’m going to try one more time, and however it turns out, we’re going to keep it, okay?” Virgil all but growled.

“Let’sss.” Dee agreed, literally hissing with annoyance.

So Virgil roughly rolled an ‘ _S’_ shape with the fondant, and violently dragged the rolling pin over it, making it tear and spread unevenly. Virgil mashed one of the ends with the base of his palm, declaring it the head. 

“Perfect.” Virgil said, setting the rolling pin down with a clatter and heaving a great sigh.

“Flawless.” Dee agreed, “You’re the next Michelangelo, Virgil.”

Virgil laughed dryly, “I’m more of a Van Gough man, myself. I prefer painting as opposed to sculpting.”

“Well, if you’re good at painting, how do you suppose we get the frosting on the cake?” Dee asked.

“Dump the frosting on and smear it?” Virgil suggested, “I’m pretty sure they use a spinny thing for this, though…” his eyebrows furrowed in thought.

“A turntable? Done and done.” Dee snapped his fingers and suddenly the cake was sitting on top of a structure that looked a little like a miniature Lazy Susan on a pedestal. The action took a surprising amount of energy away from Dee, and he swayed a tiny bit.

“Right.” Virgil said, and Dee was surprised to hear a note of sadness in his tone, and when he looked at the anxious side he saw a hint of pain in his eyes. 

Virgil looked away and dumped the frosting on the cake with a wet _plop._ He spread the frosting around after summoning a smooth, flat tool to help him.

They both realized too late that just dumping the frosting probably wasn’t the best idea, because now the frosting was uneven and there was a dent in the cake. 

“Shit.” Virgil hissed, trying to hide the dent with a copious amount of frosting to even it out, “Pat’s going to be upset.”

“Here, wait.” Dee said, grabbing the cake pan, “There’s tons of scraps in here. We can use them to fill it up.”

“Good idea.” Came Virgil’s reply, and he grabbed the cake pan out of Dee’s hands and started mashing the scraps into the cake. Dee took to spreading the rest of the frosting around as Virgil repaired the cake.

After a few minutes of perfecting it, Virgil stepped back from the cake and looked it over, “I think the snake will cover up the worst of the damage, so otherwise it’s all patched up.”

Dee held up the little forked tongue he had painstakingly made. His partially scaly fingers were stained red from the dye, ”I’ll put the tongue on.” he said, and did just that, carefully positioning the red scrap of fondant on the snake’s lumpy head.

Dee stepped back to join Virgil, “Where are we going to put the black?”

“The edges?” Virgil suggested, “And maybe like, around the snake?”

Dee pondered it for a second, the shrugged, “Sure, why not? We could use one of those frosting-squirt things or something.”

“It’s called a piping bag, I think.” Virgil corrected him, and with a blink of an eye he was holding a tapered plastic bag in his hand. Virgil grabbed the bowl filled with black frosting and started scooping into the bag.

The anxious side started carefully piping the frosting onto the cake, “Here, turn the cake for me.” he said, coming near a spot he couldn’t quite reach.

Dee slowly spun the turntable for Virgil, his mind drifting as he did so, his thoughts turning to his serpentius transformation. Besides the horror he had felt (and quite frankly, still felt) about the scales and his eye and the fact that his tongue was forked and how the snake part of his face could unhinge its jaw, he was confused. _Why_ did he have a snake face? As far as he could tell, none of the sides started gaining any personalization until they found their purpose. For instance, Logan wouldn’t have gotten a tie until he found out he was Logic, and Virgil wouldn’t have gotten a hoodie or his arachnid tendencies until he found out he was Anxiety.

Dee’s thoughts drifted from that mystery to another one. It was plain to see that the sides were hiding something. True, it _was_ only his second day (well, actually his third, because it was past midnight), but all the secrets and lies he had already seen through (to be honest, they were bad liars) made him feel as if he were in a horror movie, and all the viewers were screaming at him to run, just like Virgil had during the movie night.

A, “Finally!” From the anxious side brough Dee back to the present. Virgil had finished the piping the icing, albeit a bit wobbly and skewed off center. 

Virgil carefully picked up the snake thing and set it down on top of the cake, positioning it so it covered the dent that they had made. It was slightly off center, but that was fine. 

As soon as Virgil’s hands left the cake, Dee relaxed his shoulders (although he didn’t remember tensing them) and pulled out a chair and sat on it, admiring the cake. There wasn’t much to admire, to be honest. The structure had nothing wrong with it, but the icing was uneven, the accents wobbly, and the centerpiece wasn’t even centered. But still, Dee felt a warm glow of pride. It was his first cake, and it wasn’t _quite_ a hot mess. That was a feat considering he was come into existence not three days ago.

Suddenly feeling very tired, Dee yawned, “Why did we decide to do this again?”

Virgil rubbed his eyes, “Because I said we would when you were freaking out, and then it was because we’re idiots and didn’t want to go to bed.”

“I mean, I _did_ have a nine-hour nap.” Dee said.

“Logan said that your energy levels would be low because of all the keratin that you produced so suddenly,” Virgil reminded Dee, “So really, you should be more tired than _I_ am.”

Dee tilted his head at him, “About that, Logan told me that you have been staying up recently, why is that?”

“Oh.” Virgil shoved his hands in his pockets, “I’ve been having nightmares lately.”

“Ah.” Dee said, and left it at that. He didn’t want to pry, and possibly break whatever trust Virgil had put in him, not like he had given reason for him to _not_ trust him, but then again, he wasn’t even a week old, and didn’t know anything about these guys.

Virgil sat down in a chair and started scrubbing at his hand with his thumb, trying to get the frosting and dye off. Dee looked down at his own frosting-encrusted hands, and grimaced slightly at the sight of his scales.

“Thank you, by the way.” Dee said, looking up, “For pulling me away, I mean. I guess I was freaking out a bit.”

“A _bit?_ Dude, you were two tics away from having a panic attack. That’s a _little_ more than just a _bit._ ” Virgil said, then swung one ankle up to his knee and leaned forward, resting his elbow on the raised knee, “If you don’t mind me asking, how’s your eye? Do you think it’s actually infrared?”

Dee nodded, “Probably. Most of the red spots I see are on you. It doesn’t bother me much, so I don’t actually notice the difference from what my sight was before.”

“Cool.” Virgil said as he yawned, “I’m going to catch a couple minutes of shut-eye. You should probably go to sleep, too.”

Dee nodded tiredly and brushed some hair out of his face, “I got no complaints.”

Virgil nodded back and stood up, stretching and yawning, “G’night, then.”

“Good night,” Dee said, and watched the anxious side exit the room, then got up and left in the opposite direction, towards his room.

Dee grabbed at the disappearing/reappearing doorknob and yanked the door open, slugging towards his bed. He got under the cool covers, but unlike last night, sleep did not come to him immediately. His mind raced with unfinished thoughts and theories and opinions, the whirlwind making it impossible to relax.

Like, it was just so hard to wrap his mind around the fact that this was only his _second_ (okay, well, third, but that’s beside the point) day existing. One minute he didn’t exist, and the next he did. It’s a strange thing. And in two days he had gotten such a rush of information and personalization and also, he got fucking _snake_ _scales_.

He wasn’t sure what to think of his scales. When he first got them, he was horrified and disgusted and he _hated_ them, but now...he was just neutral. The others didn’t make a big deal out of it so almost by default he didn’t. The mind worked oddly that way.

Dee was reminded of another train of thought he had earlier. Theoretically, Dee should still be as he had woken up. A blank slate, with no actual personality or individuality. But he wasn’t. He was _him._ He liked yellow and sunflowers, and he loved snakes. He couldn’t really imagine not liking any of those things. That was all he was, now. That was his identity.

But shouldn’t he, in order to have that identity, also have a purpose? All the other’s likes and interests reflected what they were. Like, Logan had told him loved space, and he could tell he loved grammar and schedules and things like that, and that was because he served as Logic. Remus liked gross things and... _mature_ things because that was what he was, and it was similar with Roman and Virgil. And with the animal traits… Well, as far as he could tell, Virgil was a spider because Thomas was scared of spiders, and Remus was an octopus because Thomas thought they were pretty gross.

But what did being a snake have to do with his purpose? What were Thomas’s thoughts on snakes? Dee reached back in his limited collection of Thomas’s memories, but all he could remember was that Thomas called them “sneks” and “danger noodles”, thought they looked slimy, and that Thomas quoted that, “They don’t have any arms!” thing from Steven Universe whenever the subject of snakes was brought up.

So, since that route was a dud, what did snakes represent for the general populace? Well, all he could remember was the snake in The Jungle Book and the serpent that tricked Adam and Eve and all that. Perhaps…? 

Dee shook his head. He doubted that he had anything to do with those guys. They were both villains, and he was _pretty_ sure he didn’t wish anyone harm. 

Remembering that he could summon a phone, Dee snapped (his now preferred version of summoning things) and suddenly he was holding a phone with a plain yellow case. Dee frowned at the case for a second before snapping again, and in the next blink it was now a much more palatable black.

Dee opened his phone and keyed in “Snakes symbolize” into Safari, and a few seconds later he was reading about how they represented creativity (with he doubted had anything to do with him, seeing as there were already _two_ Creativities), rebirth, transformation, and healing. Dee pondered each, but he didn’t _click_ with any of them as he had with his other interests. No pieces of that figurative puzzle fell into place.

Actually, it was more like a video game than a puzzle. Like anytime he found out he liked something, it was all “Achievement Unlocked!” and then he blue screened for a second and freaked out because there was a new segment of personality being added to him.

Well, anyways, Dee was tired of thinking. He didn’t want to theorize be suspicious of his new family (even if he was) or even sleep and risk the chance of having another weird nightmare-dream thing again. He just wanted to turn off his mind for a bit.

So ignoring the heaviness of his eyelids, Dee scrolled down to see the pictures of snakes labeled “Related”.

And so Dee smiled at pictures of little sneks until he passed out underneath his warm covers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Patton and Dee bake: Aww, cute! Funny shenanigans with eggs! Old memories! 20 Questions!
> 
> When Virgil and Dee bake: *inhales* FUUUCCCKKKK. Aw, fuck. Shit. What did we do? THIS STUPID THING WONT WORK OH MY GODDDDDD


	6. Apologies in Advance for Those Named Lynda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the title does sound like a P!ATD song. That had been my goal for the last 5 chapters now. This one is probably the closest.
> 
> (Also, sorry, Lyndas, I swear I have nothing against you or your mom)

Dee woke up once more to a knocking at his door after a disorienting dream. This one didn’t have much to do with his last one, no judging family members, but instead had more to do with a weird snake that he _swore_ was talking to him, and a little half-dream he had about his face falling off. That wasn’t the most cheerful thing ever, but like...at least he was awake now.

A knock on his door sounded again, and Dee rubbed his eyes and yawned. To be perfectly honest, he felt like a piece of flaming horse shit. He probably shouldn’t have stayed up until five thirty-two in the morning looking at pictures of snakes, but at least he had a new homescreen now.

“Yeah, I’m getting up.” Dee called to Patton to let him know he was awake. He was honestly surprised that he was more coherent than yesterday, but he supposed that waking up for the first time (as he had yesterday) would always be messy. Now he had some practice.

Dee got out of bed and stood up, ignoring the immediate head rush he got from the action, and walked over to his door, stretching as he did so. The doorknob appeared under his hand, and he swung the door open. Like yesterday, Patton was waiting outside his door. The parental side was rubbing one eye with his hand, drowsy as well, and he yawned as they both made their way into the kitchen.

As Dee sat down, he noticed that everyone had a cup of coffee by their plate. He wasn’t surprised—Virgil told him they had all tried staying awake to wait until he had woken up, but they didn’t realize how long it would take for him to do so.

Dee looked up as Virgil clomped down his stairs. The anxious side looked just as tired as he felt. Even with his eyeshadow he could see the bags under his eyes. Dee could only imagine how tired he himself looked.

Virgil sat down heavily in his chair and downed his coffee in just two or three gulps, then slammed the mug down like he had just won a drinking game. Logan, without even blinking in surprise at the speed of Virgil’s consumption, refilled the cup as he passed by.

Dee drank his coffee much more slowly, enjoying the bitterness of it. It was plain black, like Virgil’s. He wanted to absorb every ounce of caffeine that was in the cup. 

As he drank in the caffeine goodness, Dee heard Roman and Remus come to the table, both sleepy. In fact, there wasn’t anyone who wasn’t sleepy, although Logan looked the most awake. Dee wondered what the effect on Thomas would be, since they were almost all nodding off at their cups.

Patton gave everyone one their bowl of oatmeal and blueberries. He wasn’t able to make much else, because no one had cleaned up the cake mess. 

At the remembrance of the cake, Dee looked up from his mug, “Hey, Pat, how do you like the cake?”

Virgil waved his spoon around, “It sucks, we know.”

Roman laughed, twisting around to look for the cake, “You actually _finished_ it? I thought you went back to sleep after the first ten minutes.”

“Oh, yeah, we finished it.” Dee told him, “We stayed up till like, four, but we finished it.”

“You kiddos want to see it?” Pat asked, bringing the cake over, “Dee and Virge did a great job!”

As Pat set the dessert on the the table, Roman snorted, “Yeah. _Such_ a great job. Is that thing on the top a snake or a worm?”

“ _I_ think it looks like someone’s intestines!” Remus chirped.

“Gross.” Virgil said, wrinkling his nose in disgust, “And of course it’s a snake. It has a tongue.”

“Well I have a tongue.” Remus told him, “And I’m _sure_ not a snake. I’m still an octopus!” To emphasize this fact, he hefted his arm thing onto the table. This elbows and up were back to normal, but his forearms were still tentacle-like.

“Ewwww!” Roman yelled, “Get your nasty arms off of the table, Remus! They’re still wet!”

Remus grinned and flopped a tentacle onto his brother’s shoulder, “What? I don’t think octopuses can hear very well, care to repeat?”

“Ueuegh!” Roman shuddered and squirmed so the arm fell off, “Shut up and let me feed you!”

“Feed me, then.” Remus demanded, “Feed me like a mama bird. Regurgitate your food into my mouth. Let me _consume_.”

Roman screwed up his face, “No, thank you. I’ll just stick to spoon-feeding you.”

“Suit yourself.” Remus grinned, and Dee suddenly noticed how sharp his teeth were. He wasn’t sure whether that was because he was an octopus or that was just part of Remus being himself.

Remus happily accepted the food being fed to him, munching with particular delight on the blueberries. It was silent for a couple moments (save for the loud chewing noises by Remus). Most of the sides were too tired to actually think straight, Dee included (although, Dee didn’t think that thinking straight was really an option, but the point was still made).

With a final smack of his lips, Remus accepted the last spoonful of oatmeal. He stood up and slammed his tentacle-things on the table with a wet _squelch_ , making most of them jump with surprise, “So!” Remus chirped, “Can we eat the cake now?”

“For breakfast?” Patton hazarded, “Shouldn’t we wait for dessert?”

“But I want cake _now_!” Remus whined, dragging out the last word.

“Well, um…” Patton looked at the rest of the sides, “What do you think? Wanna see how it tastes?”

Virgil shrugged, “Sure.” He said noncommittally, “I don't see why not.”

“Cake sounds pretty nice.” Roman agreed.

Remus looked at Dee, eyes begging. His bottom lip poked out as he tried to give him puppy dog eyes (it wasn’t working).

(Okay, maybe it was working a little)

(Stop judging, _Lynda_ , your ma’s a hoe)

“I don’t _really_ want cake right now...” Dee started, then trailed off as he looked back at Remus, who was practically on the table he was leaning so much.

“ _Pleeeeeeeeaase?”_ The trash-octopus-man begged, “Pretty please with toenails on top?”

Dee sighed, “ _Fine_.” He turned to Patton, “I’m not against it.”

Remus switched his attention to Logan, who hadn’t spoken the whole time, reading a book titled _Apollo 11: Real, or Ruse?_ The creative side tapped the top of the book, “Logan?” He asked, “Can we eat the cake?”

“It would not be wise to eat so much sugar as the start of your day.” Logan said, not looking up, “You will undoubtedly be in a state of heightened energy, which will suddenly drop, leaving you more tired than before.”

“Yeah, but isn’t that better than eating it after dinner and getting hyper before bed?” Remus argued, and Dee had to give it to him, that had a pretty good chance of getting through to Logan.

“Why eat cake at all?” Logan challenged, closing his book, “It is severely unhealthy in all respects.”

Patton gasped, “Cake is _delicious_ ! I could never just _stop_ eating it!”

“Well, we did that one time,” Logan said, sighing wistfully, “for a month.”

“Can we _please_ eat it?” Remus begged.

Logan sighed again, “Fine.”

Remus clapped his hand-arm-tentacle things excitedly, “Hooray!” He crowed happily, then proceeded to grab the (badly made) fondant snake and stuff it into his mouth. 

Dee cringed. He had made the mistake of eating a chunk of extra fondant the night before. At first, it was sweet, but then it tasted like he was licking the Pillsbury Doughboy himself. Not good.

But to his surprise, Remus didn’t even make a face. In fact, it looked like he was actually _enjoying_ the fondant. 

_Well, I suppose if he eats deodorant, this must be like frosting for him._ Dee thought ruefully.

Pat chuckled and summoned a knife to cut the cake, “Careful there, kiddo. Don’t choke on that.”

“I’m womt choke.” Remus said through the fondant, his mouth frothing.

Patton chuckled again, less enthusiastic this time, and set the knife on the top of the dessert, slowly cutting the first slice. He summoned a plate and gave the slice to Remus, who attacked it, not even summoning a fork or anything, just…shoving the cake in his mouth like an animal. Dee tried not to be impressed at the speed.

Pat grimaced and served the rest of the sides (besides Logan, who declined) a slice of cake, who ate it much more daintily. Well, except Dee. He frowned at Remus. He bet he could eat faster than that. Didn’t snakes have dislocatable jaws? 

Dee tested his jaw, trying to do the thing, stretching his mouth open wide. No odd looks were sent his way, as everyone else was absorbed in their cake. Well, except Logan. He was reading his book. Suddenly, the snake side of his face abruptly dropped, the scales sagging. There was no pain, but Dee could definitely tell that his jaw had dislocated. He popped it back into place, then out again. 

_Sweet!_ Dee thought, then eyed the cake, _Nom nom, I guess._

Dee then proceeded to shove the entire slice of cake into his mouth. It was pretty good, he decided, but he was expecting it to be a bit more sweet, given the extra sugar he had put in with both Patton _and_ Virgil. He let it sit in his mouth for a second, sifting through the tastes, before swallowing with a huge gulp.

Dee licked his lips to get rid of the frosting on his lips. It wasn’t actually very good. They probably should have made it when they weren’t sleep deprived. Did they put in salt instead of sugar, or what?

Dee looked up, “This frosting s— What?”

The others were staring at him. Roman, Virgil, and Patton were all in varying degrees of shock and disgust, but Remus and Logan looked positively _ecstatic._

“That is so _cool_!” Remus shouted, literally jumping on the table in his excitement. Little flecks of half-chews cake spattered around his feet. (Absolutely _nasty,_ he was)

Dee flinched back, nose wrinkling with disgust, “Could you _not_ stand on the table?”

Remus laughed with delight, and to Dee’s annoyance, did _not_ get off the table, and instead got down on his hands and knees to peer at Dee in the face, “Do that again!”

Dee leaned back, trying not to gag from the nasty side’s breath, _Shit! What is_ with _this dude and getting in my face?_ He thought, annoyed and slightly alarmed at the crazed look in Remus’s eyes.

“Do what again?” Dee asked, trying not to breath through his nose. It was hard to think of what Remus was talking about when he was struggling not to pass out.

“I believe what Remus is trying to say is that he finds the unhinging of your jaw fascinating,” Logan said from Dee’s right. He adjusted his glasses, “as do I.”

“Can you fit a hand in there?” Remus asked, blowing a fresh wave of warm, sickly sweet breath in Dee’s face, “Oh! Maybe you could fit a lightbulb in there! I tried once, but it broke when I tried to take it out.”

“Actually, I believe it would be rather beneficial if we preformed your tests to gauge the limits of your rather...serpentious form.” Logan said, already summoning a notebook and pen.

Remus grinned even wider, the sharpness of his teeth even more noticeable now that Dee had a close-up view of them, “Can we, Dee? It would be so fun if we could see how much you could swallow at once!”

Dee leaned back some more (not that he had much space to do so), trying to escape Satan’s Trap for Those of Sensitive Noses (tongues? He _was_ a snake, after all) , “Okay, okay, fine, just get out of my face. And brush your teeth.”

“Okay!” Remus chirped, climbing down and sitting back in his chair like a normal person once again.

To his right, Virgil chuckled dryly, “I hope you realize that Remus _never_ brushes his teeth. The most he ever does is spray some deodorant in his mouth.”

Dee made a face, “That _really_ can’t be good for him.”

“It isn’t!” Remus piped up, “The first time I used it, my mouth went numb!”

“Ah.” Dee said, “That’s...very nice, Remus.”

“Wait,” Roman interrupted before his brother could speak, “ _I_ get Dee today. You can get him tomorrow to do your weird testing stuff or whatever, but Pat said I could get him today.”

Remus groaned, “ _Fiiiine._ ” He plopped his chin on his tentacle-hand things, an over-dramatic frown on his face.

“Okay, then.” Logan said opening his book again, “Since you all have eaten the cake, you all can clean up the mess.”

Even Patton groaned at the prospect of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeesh, this is pretty short. Sorry about that. Also! I got a new profile pic from Gay_Turtles! She’s awsome!
> 
> Once, I tried fondant. Guess what I’m not doing again. 
> 
> It tastes like frosting at first, but then the flavor deteriorated and all you can taste is dye. And it makes you want to die. Your mouth gets frothy and you have to spit it out or else you have to swallow it. And you. Do. Not. Want. To. Swallow. It.
> 
> Also please enjoy Dee feeling slightly challenged by Remus being absolutely feral.


	7. If Your Lasagna is Actually Fluorescent Yellow, You Probably Shouldn’t Eat it.

It took at least two hours to finish cleaning the kitchen, even with five people cleaning it. Remus spent the majority of the time taste-testing the different cleaning supplies and licking the counter (he couldn’t use his hands, anyways), and although Roman did try, he spent most of his time trying to stop Remus and whining about how slimy his hands were.

But finish they did, and as soon as the last dish was put away and the last dirty rag was thrown in the hamper, Roman dragged him away to his room so they could talk, and so Roman wouldn’t be the ‘Toph’ of the group. (Roman’s words, not Dee’s)

“So! What do you want to do?” Roman said, plopping himself down on his bed.

Dee shrugged “Well, you like acting and stuff, right? You’re the dramatic and popular one? Does that encompass outfits and stuff?”

Roman brightened immediately, “Oh does it? Sweetie, you don’t even _know!_ ”

And so several minutes (hours? Honestly, time was such a fragile construct here) later Dee was standing in front of Roman’s mirror, looking like he was his mourning his late husband, who left him the rest of his extensive wealth in his will after a mysterious death in the woods.

(Okay, that example was a little over the top, but Roman’s room had a sort of...extra-ness that was affecting Dee, so give him a break.)

The reflection that stared back at him looked very uncomfortable, as if it wanted to jump out of the mirror, if only to escape the clothes it was trapped in.

Dee scratched his neck, pulling away from the black boa that was trying to choke him to death.

“It looks nice, really.” Dee perhaps lied to Roman, “But why the feathers..?”

Roman laughed, “It’s a joke! It’s a boa.” He looked a Dee’s unimpressed face, “You know, like a constrictor?” He motioned at Dee’s left side.

It took a couple seconds for the joke to sink in, and Dee couldn’t stop the snort of laughter, “That’s such a bad pun.”

Roman grinned, “Ah, but if it was such a bad pun, then why are you laughing?”

“I’m not laughing. That was a sneeze. Totally.”

Roman roller his eyes, “Whatever you say, Johnny Blep.”

Dee hid his smile at the nickname, “Oh please, you sound like a Pearl. Are you going to start calling me Yellow Lasagna now?”

Roman gave a shout of laughter and bowed to Dee, “Yellow Lasagna, I await your next orders!”

Dee pretended to ponder over an order, “I decree that you shall help me find an outfit!”

Roman laughed and stood up normally, dropping the act, “Well, since you brought up Pearl...”

Roman waved his hand and suddenly Dee was in a leather jacket, with a plain yellow shirt underneath and black skinny jeans. 

Dee twisted in the mirror to see his back, “...Not bad, Roman.” He said appreciatively.

Roman didn’t look so proud of his work, “It’s missing something...” the creative side muttered, brow furrowed. A few moments passed, but then Dee could almost see the lightbulb go off in his head, and Roman waved his hand and then Dee was wearing yellow motorcycle gloves.

Dee inhaled a breath softly and held his hands up to inspect them. Quietly, another piece of the puzzle (or, y’know, that “Achievement Unlocked!” thing he had thought of last night) fell into place. Gloves were definitely his thing.

“Nice.” He breathed out softly.

Roman shifted in what seemed to be nervousness, “You like them?”

Dee traced one finger over the stitching of the glove, “They’re nice.”

“Yeah?” Roman asked.

Dee nodded, gasped a little, and grinned, “You know what quote I can say now?”

“What?” Roman asked, not bothering to guess.

Dee grinned and turned his collar up, “‘It's cool, because the collar isn't supposed to go that way.’” He quoted (it was from the “Last Ones Out of Beach City” episode from Steven Universe, if he remembered correctly), and Roman clapped his hands excitedly.

“Hey!” The creative side practically shouted, “Do you want to watch that episode?”

Dee shrugged, “I don’t see why not.”

“Hooray!” Roman celebrated, and he grabbed Dee by the arm and dragged him out of the room, sprinting towards the living room.

As Dee was more or less flying in the wind like a flag, Roman almost bumped into a very surprised Remus and very annoyed Virgil.

“Sorry!” Dee called to them, apologizing for the boisterous side.

But they made it to the living room without causing too much bodily harm (save for Dee’s arm), and Roman immediately let go, turned on the TV, and started shuffling through Netflix for the episode. It was obvious that Steven Universe was one of the most watched shows, because he found it immediately. By the time Virgil made it to the living room (at normal, regular, more calm pace), the theme song was already playing.

Roman patted the seat next to him excitedly, “Come sit! We’re watching Steven Universe!”

“Like he totally didn’t know that before.” Dee murmured sarcastically, but Roman ignored him.

“Let me grab something to drink first.” Virgil told Roman.

As Virgil made his way to the fridge, he nodded at Dee, “Nice outfit.”

“Thanks.” Dee replied, and settled back to watch the episode. Virgil got a big gulp cup filled with what seemed to be Mountain Dew. 

_He won’t be able to sleep for a week!_ Dee thought, cringing internally, but at the same time, Dee wished he had some for himself. Perhaps staying up till five thirty in the morning wasn’t the best idea.

Right at the part where Pearl flipped her collar up, Virgil leaned to look at Dee from over Roman, realizing where Roman got his inspiration.

“Really, Princey? I thought Dee was more of a Lapis type of guy.”

“Lapis?” Dee repeated, dubious.

Virgil nodded, “Yeah, that or Peridot.”

“Peridot?” Dee was incredulous now.

“Y’know, with all the...wait, I guess that wouldn’t work.” Virgil looked crestfallen, which, in Dee’s opinion, was a bit much for just mischaracterizing him.

“No.” Roman said, butting in, “ _You’re_ Lapis, Virgil.”

“What? No.” Virgil objected, “I’m Amethyst.”

“You’re totally Lapis! You’re apathetic and want to die!”

“No, I’m purple and the most in touch with the actual world!”

“You can’t be Amethyst! Remus is Amethyst!”

“Did somebody call?” Remus popped up out of nowhere, deodorant in hand.

“No!” Roman yelled at the same time Virgil shouted, “You’re in the way!”

Remus held his hands up in a surrendering gesture, “Okay, _okay_. I know where I’m not wanted.” But instead of leaving, he sat himself down next to Dee, “And I stay there! That’s one of the things that makes me so annoying! Is that Steven Universe?”

Roman sighed in resignation and replied, “Yeah, and can you please tell Virgil that your Amethyst?”

“But how is he Amethyst? He’s obviously Peridot!” Virgil argued.

“Oh no, I’m Amethyst. We worked it all out!” Remus told him, “I eat weird things all the time and my room is literally a dump! Look, I can even do that thing she did with the burrito!”

To prove his point, he stood up and summoned a burrito, shoving it down his throat.

“Remus.” Dee said, grimacing at the side, “Please stop deepthroating the burrito.”

To his left, Virgil spat out his Mountain Dew, or maybe it flew out his nose, didn’t really matter. Roman had dropped the remote in surprise. Remus was coughing, bent over now, choking on the burrito that he had attempted to swallow whole.

Dee’s eyebrows knitted together. That was the exact reason he had told Remus to stop. He didn’t think that sides could die but choking was never pleasant. Well...that was subjective (especially when Remus the Kinky Bastard was in question), but in this case it was most likely an unpleasant sensation.

“I knew you would choke.” Dee told Remus, somewhere between reproachful, worried and smug. The statement didn’t do anything to help the situation, however. (In fact, it looked like it made it worse.)

Roman stood up, patting his twin on the back, “There, there,” he told him, “that’s right, spit it out.”

Virgil smirked at Remus and turned to Dee, wiping away some drops of Mountain Dew away from his nose, “I don’t think he’s ever had someone come close to matching him in his…” The anxious side waved his hand, searching for the right word, “...vulgarity.” Virgil grinned crookedly, “Be careful, because he may or may not take it as a challenge.”

“Right now, I think he’s more shocked than anything.” Roman laughed. He looked a little like a maniac, laughing cheerfully next to his choking brother, who looked like he was going to—whelp, he just did. He fell on the floor.

“Shit! You okay, Remus?” Dee leaned over, his eyebrows furrowing together in concern, “I swear I was just trying to make a joke. You’re not dying, right? Don’t cough up a lung.”

But a few seconds later, Dee realized that Remus want just coughing (although he was doing plenty of that), but he was also...laughing?

“I’ve never—“ Remus cut himself off with another cough, “—I’ve never had someone say something like that to me before.” He looked at Dee with a wild grin and a crazy look in his eyes, “And you bet your _ass_ that I’m taking it as a challenge.”

Dee chuckled, slightly uneasy, “Whatever you say, Green Day.”

Roman gasped, stepping over his fallen brother to excitedly put his hands on both sides of his face, grin stretching from ear to ear, “You do nicknames too?” The creative side practically shouted, making Dee’s head wobble back and forth.

“Um, yeah?” Dee shrugged, taking Roman’s hands off his cheeks (seriously, what was with the two Creativies and getting in his face?), “When I first woke up, I didn’t know any of your names, so I kinda made up some nicknames for you guys and called you them in my head.”

“What nicknames did you call me?” Roman asked.

“Um, well, Drama Kid, for one.” Dee said, listing the nickname off with his fingers, “Also William Shakespeare, Prep School, Preppy, Sash, and Red Riding Hood.”

Roman clapped his hands with delight, and Remus bounced to his feet and pushed Roman aside, getting into Dee’s face yet _again_ , “What about me?” He seemed to have gotten over his coughing fit, and the burrito was gone for furtherization of the plot.

“Oh, I called you Greenie, Mustache, and uh, I guess you already know that I called you Green Day.” Dee smirked, “I guess I should’ve said Green _Gay._ ”

Remus clapped his hands, just like Roman had done a couple seconds ago, except this time with the weird tentacle-hand things and wet slapping noises, “Do more!” He cried.

Dee gave a half grin and tapped his finger against his chin, “I guess… Sashes to Sashes and Lust to Lust?” He suggested.

“A reference to my sash, my hornyness, _and_ a parody of the English Burial Service?” Remus gasped, “It’s perfect!”

“Well, morbidness—and hornyness— aside,” Virgil said, scootching closer and nudging Dee, “what’d you call me?”

Dee frowned in thought, “I think mostly Patches, but also like...Purple, and I think...Scarecrow? Because your outfit reminds me of Scarecrow, from Joel Schumacher’s cancelled third _Batman_ film, I guess.”

Virgil blinked, then snorted, “Ah, yeah. I guess—I guess you would think that.” He gave a one-note chuckle, then started fiddling with the ends of his hoodie strings, and Roman took over the conversation.

“You do know that we wasted the whole episode, right?” The creative side said, motioning towards the screen.

“Uh, yeah,” Dee said (although he had _completely_ forgotten about it), “I noticed.”

Remus stretched himself along the three, (not unlike a cat) laying down on all their laps, “Let’s rewatch the show!”

“Sure, why not.” Dee replied, “We _totally_ won’t spend the rest of the day watching it, of course.” He studied his nails, “Even if we did, it’s _only_ my third day existing. Totally not a waste.” He grinned at Roman and Virgil, dropping the sarcasm, “It’ll be my first binge!”

And, well, three, four hours in, Dee may or may not have fallen asleep, but who could blame him? He had stayed up until five thirty—and Remus was like a mini furnace. How _couldn’t_ he fall asleep?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That chapter was sooooo short. Sorry.


	8. Science Projects with the One (1) Braincell (and Two [2] Slimy Bois)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry animal lovers, but a mouse dies. Like...gets eaten. Does this count as a trigger warning? Just to be safe, it starts at “Dee stared after Virgil” and ends at “Five minutes later”
> 
> Also, Remus’s point of view might be unsettling? I just mention a lot of Remus-y things and kind of gory things? Idk I have no idea if this should be a warning.

Dee woke up with his lap feeling empty, but his side _very_ warm. He slowly, as to not wake anyone up, turned his head to look at who he was leaning on. It seemed that Remus had gotten tired of laying on all of their laps, and had decided to sit next to him. Dee must have gravitated towards the heat or something and started leaning on him.

So now Dee had a choice: save his dignity and move, while losing the heat; or keep the heat and possibly lose his dignity.

Dee _almost_ leaned away—but Remus was _very_ warm. He twisted his head to look at the clock. It was two forty in the morning. Dee had slept for almost ten hours—and had missed dinner while he was at it. His stomach rumbled at the thought of food.

_Shut up,_ Dee told his stomach, _I’m going back to sleep._

His stomach rumbled again, and Dee could have _sworn_ it just cussed him out.

Dee grumbled right back and nestled into the warmth of the trashy garbage side. For a second, he debated with himself on whether he should get up and get a blanket, but then he remembered (with great relief) that he could just summon one. Dee snapped his fingers, his new motorcycle gloves muffling the sound, and a blanket settled on both him and Remus. 

Dee yawned quietly and closed his eyes, falling asleep within the minute.

— — —

What felt like five seconds later, Dee woke up to little giggles and cooing sounds. He cracked open an eye. Patton was up, giggling at them and taking pictures. Dee frowned at him, making the paternal side have to hold back laughter. Dee turned his frown into a scowl.

“Sssstop.” He hissed quietly, annoyance filling his tone.

Patton took another picture.

Dee sighed at him. He got the sense that Pat wasn’t going to stop unless he got up or fell back asleep. Well, going back to sleep wasn’t an option, and he didn’t have the willpower to get up away from the warmth. Through his snake eye, he could see that he was in the warmest spot in the room. Yeah, he wasn’t going to leave.

But as Patton took another picture, he cringed and hid his face in the blanket he had summoned earlier, _I should’ve chosen my dignity._

The movement must have woken up Remus, because the said side shifted and stretched—or, he tried to, but his arm was around Dee and wedged between him and the couch. Remus looked down at Dee, his surprise evident in his expression. 

Dee froze, looking up at Remus. The human half of his face heated up, and as soon as he could convince his limbs to move, he shot away from trash gremlin side.

“Sssorry.” He apologized, mumbling quietly, “You’re...really warm.”

Remus probably was about to say something, but Dee was distracted by a loud, “Gah!” from behind Remus.

Dee peered around The Rat Man to look at the source of the sound. Virgil had rolled off the couch, leaving a very surprised Roman. Dee suspected that the anxious side had woken up in a similar situation. He felt a tinge of sympathy. 

Patton sighed and put away his phone with a mournful expression. He had probably wanted more pictures.

“Alright, kiddos, breakfast time!” The parental side said loudly, straightening up and brushing off his pants.

Roman groaned and stumbled to his feet, rubbing his face with his hand. His clothes were rumpled and his hair was a mess, but he didn’t seem to notice enough to fix it.

Dee was awake enough, however, to see how wrinkled his own clothes were, so he stood up, and with a snap, smoothed out the creases in his new leather jacket.

After he was looking like an orderly human being (okay, the “human” term was debatable, but whatever) again, he marched off to the kitchen, trying not to make eye contact with Remus.

Breakfast was pretty good, and punctuated by Steven Universe theories they had came up with the day before as they were binging. Remus somehow managed _yet again_ to find an excuse to get in Dee’s face, Roman, thankfully, dragged him back before Dee passed out from lack of clean oxygen.

After breakfast, Dee helped with the dishes again, then was dragged off by Remus into the living room, where Logan was waiting with a notebook, pen, and a billion questions.

“So, first of all, do you know if my hypothesis about your eye is correct?” Logan said, adjusting his glasses.

Dee nodded, “Yeah, it’s infrared vision.”

Logan hummed and scribbled in his notebook for a few seconds, then summoned two beakers of water, “Would you mind telling me which one of these beakers is hotter?”

Dee blinked, then pointed to the left beaker, “That one,” he said.

Logan nodded and checked something off in his notebook, “Can you guess what temperature the beakers are at?”

Dee nodded, inspecting the difference of the colors of the beakers, “I think that that one is...maybe seventy degrees? And the other might be around one twenty? I have no idea though.”

“No, you were pretty close.” Logan told him, “Although the right beaker is actually closer to sixty degrees.”

Logan summoned two more beakers, this time, they were both extremely cold and almost frozen. Dee identified the warmer of the two and guessed their temperatures, and then Logan summoned two more again. The pattern went on for a few minutes, the breaker’s temperatures getting closer and closer to each other, testing how accurate Dee’s vision was. The beakers were about four or five degrees from each other when Dee couldn’t guess which one was hotter or not, so his vision was pretty accurate.

When they were done both the beaker experiment, Remus groaned from the couch he was laying on, “Can you _please_ test something interesting, now?” He asked, sounding bored out of his mind.

“Don’t worry, Remus, I suspect you will appreciate the next experiment.” Logan said, adjusting his glasses with a small smile, “Dee, how do you feel about mice?”

— — —

At around nine thirteen in the morning, Virgil came in the living room to mess around on the TV for maybe an hour or five. He put one foot past the threshold, and his eyes widened as he saw Logan and Remus watching Dee, who was holding a _live_ mouse above his _mouth_.

The trio froze, staring at Virgil. Virgil stared right back, his mouth opening a couple times to ask them _what the everliving fuck they were doing_ , but no sound came out. Soon he just pivoted on his foot, U-turning back to his room.

_Not today, Satan._ He thought as he put on his headphones, _If Patton sees them eating live mice, though, I’m going to_ murder _them._

— — —

Dee stared after Virgil, not quite sure if he should be worried for any reason, “O…kay?” 

Remus nudged him, phone in hand and recording, “Hurry up and eat it!”

Dee stared at the mouse for a second, then turned towards Logan, “Don’t I have to squeeze it or something first?”

Logan adjusted his glasses, “You may go about it however you wish. If you are uncomfortable with eating a mouse, you don’t even have to do it.”

Dee stared back at the mouse, then shrugged and started squeezing slowly. The mouse squeaked, and Dee’s nostrils flared as he scented the mouse’s fear. His eyes widened, and a deep, primal instinct overtook him.

There was a flash of bright, yellow light, and then Dee was bearing down upon the mouse (who looked much larger now) with his sharp fangs. The mouse looked disoriented, but he scrambled away nonetheless. Dee didn’t let him escape. He darted forward and grabbed the mouse with his teeth, his serpentious body giving him newfound speed. The mouse screeched with pain, and Dee reoriented his body, quickly wrapping around the rodent, its bones cracking. The mouse gave one last, final squeak before going limp, death overtaking it. 

Dee felt a surge of satisfaction and opened his mouth again to envelop the rodent headfirst. He slowly swallowed it, feeling the muscles in his long body contract to help his lunch down. 

— — —

About five minutes later, the rodent was sitting comfortably in Dee’s belly, and he was looking up at two large humans. He had the feeling that he was supposed to do something now, but he didn’t know what. Something nagged at him from the back of his mind, but it was a translucent thought, and when he tried to focus on what it was, it vanished like mist in the warm sun.

His introspection was cut off, though, when the taller human bent down, hand outstretched. The smaller human pulled the taller’s arm back, his voice issuing a warning tone.

The taller one yanked his arm away the smaller one, and Dee flinched, wary. The tall human moved his hand toward him again, and Dee eyed it, hissing a warning. The hand continued to move towards him as Dee’s unease grew.

The hand was almost close enough to touch Dee, and suddenly he couldn’t take its proximity anymore, and he struck the hand, biting it hard enough to draw specks of blood.

The tall human jerked his hand back, waving it around, and Dee, through some thought process he couldn’t quite follow, immediately felt a worm of guilt in his stomach, even though he knew his actions had been completely in self-defense.

Now, as a snake, his thought process wasn’t as nearly as put-together and calculating as it seemed. There were no crystal-clear thoughts, only emotions and reflexes and instincts, and right now his instincts told him that he needed to go to sleep, and that he would be happier if he fell asleep in a warm spot.

The tall human’s hand came again, in a much more relaxed and slow manner, and this time, Dee didn’t bite. The hand was now not anything to fear, but now it was something warm. He would like to sleep there.

So Dee slithered forward, tongue flicking out to taste the air, and he _boop_ ed his nose against the human’s hand. He heard a quiet exclamation, but as it was soft, he deemed it no danger and continued his path onto the hand. It _was_ warm, and he saw a warmer spot higher up the human’s arm. He slithered forward to investigate.

— — —

_Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy super-fucking-heck shit!_ Remus thought as Snake-Dee slithered up his sleeve, _Holy_ FUCK _he’s cold and he’s fucking going up my arm and holy SHIT!_

Remus could feel Dee’s tongue flicking in and out against his arm, and he could feel his neck start to get splotchy in a (very, very, _very_ ) rare blush.

“Dee?” He inquired, looking down his sleeve.

“Remus, I told you, he can’t understand what you are saying.” Logan adjusted his glasses, “I doubt he has anything else on his mind than going to sleep. I believe he is going up your sleeve because it is a natural instinct to sleep in an enclosed, warm, and dark spot, especially because snakes can’t close their eyes.”

“They can’t close their eyes?” Remus repeated, and he immediately thought of eyeballs drying out and disintegrating until they were blown out of someone’s eye sockets by the wind. He wondered if he would be able to make that happen to Dee. The sneky boi probably wouldn’t like it, though.

“They can’t close their eyes, because they already have a scalelike membrane covering them,” Logan told Remus, “it’s clear, so they can see, although near the time that they have to shed, it gets cloudy and it’s hard for them to see well.”

(I love how snakes shed their skin _can I shed my skin?_ Wasn’t that a punishment in Ancient Rome, like Roman _does Roman know he’s named after people who tore other people’s skin off?)_

“Wow, Lo—gah!” Remus cut himself off with a yelp as Dee, who had worked his way up the sleeve, flicked the end of his freezing tail into his previously warm armpit. He stifled the urge to squish the tail between his arm and his side (also the urge to squish Dee’s head, but that went without saying), “That’s—really cold!”

(Cold like ice _ooh like frostbite_ could my arm freeze so much that it fell off? That would be cool it’d turn black like Virgil’s aesthetic so cool)

Roman peeked his head around the doorway to the living room, “I’m hearing a surprising amount of yelli—Remus?” his twin cut himself off, staring at him with and incredulous expression, “You good there, _mi gremelo?_ ” 

Remus gave grin at the familiar nickname—a mix between the Spanish word for twin, _gemelo_ , and gremlin— but he could tell Roman could see his discomfort. His brother had always been able to read him like one of those too-wholesome, not-enough-porn magazines that Roman always read. It was probably a helpful sign that he was blushing—he could feel splotches on his neck burning, as well as the tips of his ears.

Before Remus’s mind could go down the track of _actually_ burning his ears off, he felt Dee poke his head out of his outstandingly ruffled dress shirt, his tongue flicking in and out, tasting the air. Roman’s eyes widened as he saw the snake.

“Holy fu—is that _Dee_?” Roman’s voice rose to a pitch,.

Remus nodded, hyper-aware of every movement the snake was making. He was still frozen, trying not to move a muscle in fear that he would accidentally crush Dee. 

(Don’t crush don’t kill him ~~not again~~ they’d all be mad he’d be mad ~~and then it’d be back back back to that place~~ )

He wasn’t _uncomfortable,_ per say, (it would probably be a sign of the apocalypse if he was ever weirded out enough to be uncomfortable) but rather, he was scared he was about to lose all impulse control and peel the skin off of Dee, or shove him up his butt or something. It wasn’t often—actually, he didn’t think anyone had _ever_ gotten this close, besides _maybe_ Roman (like, Dee was _literally_ under his shirt, it was kinda hard to get closer than that...unless he ate Dee. That would be pretty close). People usually were diverted by his smell, or the fact that Remus knew how to skin a human four different ways.

(Just like a snake. Just like Rome)

(First you start with the hands and feet)

Roman seemed to sense his internal struggle. As he said before, Roman had always been good at telling what he was thinking. 

“Hey, Re,” Roman took a step forward, “do you want me to take him off?”

“I don’t believe Dee wants to leave,” Logan informed Roman, “he is preparing to take a nap, as he just caught a meal. Taking him off might cause him to lash out.”

(Remus preened inside)

( _Me._ He chose _me_ )

“He already bit me!” Remus waved around his injured hand. 

“He bit you and you _still_ let him go up your sleeve?” Roman sounded nonplussed, and he folded his arms.

Remus pouted, “That was my fault. I tried to grab him! I shoulda just let him get on me himself!”

“How did he turn into a snake anyways?” Roman asked.

“We wanted to see if he could eat a mouse!” Remus supplied with a grin.

(Yum yum yum eat the mouse feel the bones crunch crunch crunch)

Roman blinked, “ _Why_?”

“Science!” Remus spun around in a giddy circle, but abruptly stopped himself when he remembered that could hurt Dee. He apologized to the snake in a stage whisper, “Sorry.”

(Can’t hurt hurt hurt him he’d be mad sad frowny and can’t let that happen)

The snake raised his head, and Remus stared at it, resisting the urge to crush Dee’s skull with his hand. He was going to have to unwind in the Imagination for _hours_ after all this self-control. He was pretty sure he hadn’t been this still for _months._

(Don’t be wild wild gets him hurt _don’t let him get hurt_ be still he’d be proud)

In an attempt to keep from moving too much and disturbing Dee, Remus plopped himself down on the couch, trying not to move a muscle. He gave Logan and Roman a bright grin, “Wanna watch _Beetlejuice_ with me?”

— — —

When Dee next woke up, he wasn’t feeling so tired. Sleeping tended to do that. It was funny that way.

He felt really warm. That was pleasant, although unusual for the mindscape. It usually felt freezing no matter what he did. 

There was a really weird blanket covering him. It was all rough and it felt sort of frilly.

It wasn’t until he extracted his head and looked up that he realized that something odd had happened to him, and it took a few more seconds after _that_ to process that holy _fuck_ he was a _snake_ and he was wrapped around _Remus’s_ neck and he didn’t remember how he got there.

And suddenly he was himself again, limbs entangled with each other and oddly curled around Remus’s shoulders. The creative side helped in surprise, making Dee flinch. Remus had just yelled almost directly into his ear. The trash man quieted immediately.

“What happened?” Dee asked in a whisper.

“You turned into a snake.” Remus told him in the same hushed tone as Dee.

“I gathered.” Dee responded dryly, “I was asking _how_ I turned into a snake.”

“Logi said that he thinks that preparing to eat the mouse triggered a primal instinct or something.” Remus reported, his voice turning to its normal volume, “Although I experience primal instincts all the time, and I don’t turn into an octopus every time, now do I?”

Dee blinked, resisting the wild urge to laugh, “I don’t think Logan was talking about those type of primal urges.” He replied.

Remus shrugged, making Dee rise and fall with his shoulders, “Whatever you say, Snakey!” 

Dee slid off Remus’s shoulders, thankful the side didn’t make the situation awkward (although Dee felt like falling asleep on Remus _twice_ was pretty embarrassment-worthy). 

Dee noticed that Remus had his phone and a pair of earbuds connected to it, “What are you watching?” he inquired.

“ _Beetlejuice_!” The creative side exclaimed, “Do ya wanna watch?”

“Um, sure.” Dee said, accepting the proffered earbud, “Why didn’t you watch this on the TV, though?”

“I realized that it would wake you up, so I used earbuds instead!” Remus told him.

Dee was touched by the unexpected thoughtfulness. Remus didn’t seem the type to think about whether or not his movie would wake someone up. It was nice that Remus took extra precautions not to disturb him.

As the movie started playing from about halfway through, Dee felt Remus noticeably relax. It occurred to him that perhaps the raccoon-rat-octo-gremlin had actually been worried he would crush him. The creative side had had an aura of unease and general worried-ness shown through his tense shoulders when Dee had first woken up, before he had morphed back into a human. But now Remus seemed much more at ease. Tired even, although he stayed awake for the movie. 

Dee wondered if he would have a normal day tomorrow. No weird achievements or whatever unlocked, or snake shenanigans, or passing out for an indefinite amount of time, or any lying from his counterparts. He wondered what the mindscape was like before he was there. Did the others lie as much, or look happier? Or were they more sad for that inexplicable reason? Did they settle into a pattern of everyday life, or was everyday spontaneous?

He wished that he didn’t form so late, so he could _really_ be part of this family. The others were so comfortable around each other. Well, maybe do _comfortable_ wasn’t the right word seeing as Remus was...well, _Remus_ , but they all seemed to _understand_ each other. They knew each other’s boundaries and interests and they could _really_ talk to each other. His counterparts may have not been hostile, but they for sure didn’t trust him enough to have any heart-to-hearts any time soon. (Well, Remus would gladly tear out their hearts, but that was about as close as it would get)

But how could he blame them? Hell, he didn’t even know _himself_ . How could real people stand not knowing their explicit purpose? He _ached_ for his, to serve Thomas and protect him and help him in any way. The longing gave him a hollow feeling right in the center of his ribcage. Right now, he was _literally_ useless. 

He guessed all he really could do was wait. He hoped, he really, _really_ hoped that he could find his purpose soon.

Dee put the matter aside as Beetlejuice continued to play, letting his mind turn off for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I absolutely LOVE writing Remus and I CANNOT wait for the next two chapters! I think you guys will really like them!


	9. Decorations and Reincarnations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all, I can’t tell you how excited I am for you guys to read this chapter. Personally, my favorite part is at the end, but I hope you guys will like all of it!

Dee and Remus had finished watching  _ Beetlejuice, _ and now all the sides were eating dinner. Dee wasn’t hungry (Logan said that was because he ate as a snake) but he sat at the table anyways and joined the conversation. 

“Hey kiddos,” Pat said, summoning his phone with a sly grin on his face, “do you wanna see some pictures that I took?”

Dee felt horror wrench in his gut. His head whipped around from where he had been talking to Logan to send a terrified look at Patton, “Pictures?”

“What pictures?” Roman asked, breaking his conversation with Virgil to look at the paternal side.

Dee wordlessly shook his head at the creative side, mouthing a ‘ _ No! _ ’ to him. The other three sides hadn’t the been awake when Patton had been taking the pictures, but he  _ knew _ he didn’t want any of them to see. Heck,  _ they _ probably did want to see either. The only ones who  _ wouldn’t  _ be embarrassed were Patton and Logan. And maybe Remus. Could that side get embarrassed over  _ anything _ ?

Despite Dee’s wordless warning, Roman accepted the phone. His expression flashed from amusement, to disbelief, and then to pure horror. The creative looked up at Pat, “You—what—I wasn’t camera ready!”

Virgil snorted, “What, did he take a picture while you did you beauty routine? Dude, I’ve seen you without your foundation on, hand it over.”

Roman’s eyes flicked from Virgil, the back to the picture, then to Virgil’s outstretched hand. Dee smirked at him. Roman caught his eye and thrust the phone into his hand, “Hey, uh, Dee wants it! I guess he can have it first!”

Dee smirked again and made perfect eye contact with Roman as he quickly cropped himself and Remus out of the picture, so it was just Roman and Virgil leaning on each other as they slept, and handed it to Virgil. 

Virgil’s eyes widened as he took in the picture, and he cleared his throat, his ears turning red, “Oh.” He looked up at Patton, “Can I delete this?”

“Nope!” Patton said, popping the ‘p’ and yoinking the phone out of Virgil’s hands, “Mine forever!”

Dee sighed as Patton undid his cropping job, the paternal side grinning at him.

“May I see?” Logan asked from across the table.

Dee, Virgil, and Roman all whipped around to face the logical side, “No!” 

“Sure thing, Lo!” Patton replied cheerfully and  _ stretched  _ his arm  _ all  _ the way across the table with a sickening rubbery sound.

“Eugh!” Dee cried, leaning away from the spaghetti-like limb, “Don’t tell me we can  _ stretch! _ ”

“Sure we can, Dee!” Remus chirped, stretching his torso all the way to Dee, chin in his hands, so his butt was still the seat, “Is it making you  _ uncomfortable? _ ”

“Yes!” Dee nodded an emphasis, “Very much so, so if you wouldn’t do that, that’d be great.”

“Hmmm…” Remus tilted his head, appearing to think about it, “No, I don’t want to!”

“Please?” Dee begged, “That’s  _ really  _ gross. Like, I don’t care what else you say, or do, or whatever, as long as you don’t do  _ that.” _

“No—you don’t want—” Roman reached out a hand in warning, then he tilted his head in thought, “actually, no, carry on.”

Remus paid him no mind, wolfish grin spreading wide, “So…” he said slyly, “Does that mean you’d let me say  _ whatever _ I want as long as I don’t stretch?”

Dee blanched as he realized his mistake, “Wait—no, I didn’t mean—”

“Too late!” Remus’s body snapped back to the rest of his torso, “It’s a deal!”

Roman yanked Remus back to his seat and this time,  _ he _ was the one to smirk to  _ Dee _ . With a quiet groan Dee realized that that had been Roman’s payback for handing the picture to Virgil.

Speaking of the picture, Logan was handing it back to Patton, a disinterested look on his face. Patton tucked the phone is his pocket, a satisfied smile on his face.

An awkward silence settled on the table.

“Okay!” Dee said abruptly, “I wanna decorate my room, so who wants to help?”

“Ooh! Ooh! I wanna!” Remus waved his hand in the air like an impatient student.

“It would be a pleasure to bestow my  _ amazing _ fashion sense to you,” Roman said, pushing back his chair and standing up.

“I’d love to, but I gotta wash the dishes,” Patton told Dee. Virgil and Logan both declined as well, so it looked like it would just be Dee and the Creativitwins.

— — —

“So, you want the main color to be yellow, right?” Roman asked as he and his brother stood in Dee’s bare room.

“Uh, yeah,” Dee told him, “I wouldn’t mind like...black or something as an accent color, though.”

Roman nodded, looking like he was trying to hide a pained expression. He probably wanted the accent color to be white.

“Well, okay, do you want to do the honors?” Roman asked him.

“Sure,” Dee responded, and he closed his eyes in concentration as he focused on his surroundings. A second later he opened his eyes to see a light, calm yellow slowly spreading in an ever growing circle from around his feet. It covered the room completely, so the only things that weren’t yellow were Dee and the twins.

Roman set his hands in his hips, “Okay, so now that’s done, we can work off from here. First off, what vibe do you want your room to give off?”

“Vibe?” Dee repeated uncertainly.

“Yeah!” Remus piped up, “My room gives off a cool vibe!”

“It gives off a  _ stinky  _ vibe is what it does.” Roman muttered under his breath, and Remus brightened.

“Thanks!” The trash man said, seeming actually pleased about Roman’s comment (of course he would be, though, wouldn’t he?).

“I don’t know what kind of ‘vibe’ I want to give,” Dee said, “but like...I like snakes, so…”

“Yeah, but what else?” Roman asked, a twinge if impatience coloring his time.

Dee shrugged, “I like snakes…I’m pretty sure that’s about it...”

Roman groaned, “You like sunflowers, right? We can put some sunflowers in a vase or something.”

“Shove them up your butt!” Remus yelled helpfully.

“I would absolutely  _ love _ that.” Dee returned sarcastically.

Roman just sighed and summoned some sunflowers in a vase, setting them on Dee’s generic yellow Ikea nightstand. He turned back to Dee, looking like an idea had just struck him, “Can I make your counters and stuff mahogany, please?! It would look  _ stunning _ against the yellow!”

Dee waved his hand, “Sure.”

And with Roman’s touch, all the wood in Dee’s room became a dark reddish-brown, and it did pop against the yellow, as Roman had predicted.

Actually…, “Speaking of mahogany, do you think you could put a bookshelf here?” Dee walked over to an empty stretch of wall next to the head of his bed, within arm’s reach. He stretched his arms wide to signify how wide and tall he wanted it, then looked expectantly back at Roman, who nodded.

“Sure thing! It’s gonna take a second, though.”

The creative side put his hands against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut and concentrating. Within a few seconds, the wall began to glow, a plain mahogany bookshelf faded into place. Roman stepped back and gave Dee a nod, “You can put any little details you want into it, now.”

Dee tilted his head, pondering what he should put on it. Little snake designs, maybe? No, he needed a bit more than that…

“I’ll put it on later,” he told Roman, unable to decide.

“Okay, now how about we put a beanbag here somewhere, or a chair or something?” Roman said, motioning to an empty corner (okay, but to be honest, almost every corner was empty, but this one was  _ more _ empty than the rest).

“I’d like a bean bag.” Dee agreed, and Roman supplied one.

Dee looked around the room. It bugged him that literally every wall was the same color. It looked like he was in a never-ending pit of yellow. Dee snapped, and the carpet turned a dark, palatable gray. 

Roman looked down, “That works. What do ya wanna change next?”

— — —

Two hours later, right around nine or ten thirty, Dee and Roman collapsed in Dee’s bed. Turns out, creating too many things makes you  _ tired _ .

“Done already?” Remus asked, combing through the assortment of knives he had summoned in Dee’s bed. He was on his stomach, his feet lazily kicking the air.

“You didn’t even  _ do _ anything, Remus,” Dee told him, rolling over and stuffing his face in a pillow. Some of the knives slid toward him, falling down the pit he had made with his body. Remus snatched them up before any could stab him.

“I made knives!” Remus announced as if they didn’t know before, “Lots and  _ lots _ of knives!”

“We know, Remus.” Roman replied with a sigh, “But we didn’t  _ ask _ for knives. Can you please get rid of them?”

Dee looked up from his pillow, just in time for a look of hurt quickly flash across Remus’s face. The knives had been annoying, sure, but Dee had seen how proud of them he was. He didn’t have any doubt that he had put the best of his creative abilities to work with them. It wasn’t fair to ask Remus to just make them vanish.

“Wait.” Dee said a Remus prepared to poof all the knives away, “Can I see some of them?”

Remus looked up, surprise coloring his expression, “Uh...sure!” His voice, although still chipper, was hesitant, as if he didn’t quite believe Dee was interested in his knives.

Dee sifted through the knives, carefully avoiding the blades. He could tell they were plenty sharp from the cuts Remus had on his fingers and arms from when he laid down on them. Apparently this was...normal? And Dee was kinda worried for Remus’s mental health? Also his physical health, because here was a dark stain of blood spreading from beneath him (Yes, this  _ did _ bug Dee, but he could always clean his blankets with a snap, so he supposed it didn’t really matter). Neither Roman nor Remus seemed bothered, though, so he didn’t say anything.

Dee picked up a knife from the pile. It could actually be classified as a small dagger. It had a sort of Celtic design, with two intertwining snakes that held red orbs in their silver mouths.

“Hey, this one is pretty good.” Dee commented, testing the weight. He wasn’t an expert, but it seemed pretty balanced, “May I keep it?” He looked at Remus expectantly.

Dee wasn’t able to tell what the slightly murder-y side’s expression was. His eyes were wide, and he looked almost—awed? Was that the word? 

Remus nodded his head in response to Dee’s question “Dirk.”

Dee narrowed his eyes,  _ What the fuck?  _ Did he hear right?

“Sorry?”

“It’s a dirk. It’s Scottish.” Remus told him, his voice oddly serious.

“Oh, that’s cool. I guess you would know a lot about weapons, right?” Dee questioned.

Remus nodded, his eyes lighting up with happiness, “Yeah! I know a  _ lot _ about weapons!”

“What’s your favorite type?” Dee asked, fiddling with the knife.

(Dee would have  _ sworn _ that Remus mumbled something about being short or something under his breath, but Remus continued before Dee could question it)

Remus chirped, “I have a morning star!” With that, he summoned a wicked mace-looking thing with spikes at the end, covered in a reddish brown substance that was  _ undoubtedly  _ blood, “Isn’t she  _ beautiful _ ?”

Dee nodded his appreciation, “She  _ is _ beautiful.” He complemented, admiring the weapon. He was going to ask the difference between a mace and a morning star, but Roman popped to his feet before he could say anything more.

“Hey it’s getting kind of late, we should get out of your hair—er—scales.” Roman said hurriedly, grabbing Remus by the arm and yanking him off the couch. He dragged his twin out of the room, and Remus excitedly waved goodbye as his brother more or less slammed the door behind them.

Dee blinked at the obviously rushed escape. What had he said? Was he jealous that Dee had complemented his brother and not him? Yes, that seemed uncharacteristically shallow for the chivalrous side, but they  _ had _ said that he had been the Ego, so perhaps it wasn’t so uncharacteristic.

Dee shrugged, then looked down and sighed at his blood-stained blanket. They hadn’t even taken the knives. Whatever. Dee snapped and his blanket cleaned itself, and the knives appeared neatly on his bookshelf. He would return them in the morning. 

Dee yawned and stretched, joints popping. Creating stuff and manipulating objects had taken a  _ lot _ out of him. So Dee snapped the lights off and got under his newly yellow, newly cleaned covers, wrapping up in the fluffy warmth and waiting for sleep to overtake him.

— — —

Roman dragged his brother out of Dee’s room, feeling anger and some sort of panic stabbing at his chest. He continued to drag Remus, but whether as some sort of punishment or just unwillingness to slow down, he couldn’t say. 

Roman yanked Remus into his room and shut the door, not bothering to turn on the light, “What are you  _ doing _ ?” He voice full of accusation.

“Well, I’m bleeding, for one!” Remus said cheerfully. Roman groaned and cupped his face with his hands, taking a deep breath to stem his growing anger.

“Remus.” He said, seriousness making his voice low, “We’ve talked about this. Heck,  _ Logan  _ talked about it. Dee is  _ not _ Deceit! You can’t keep on acting like that around him!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Roman’s brother denied, a grin peeking up at the corners of his mouth.

Roman gripped Remus by his shoulders, “ _ Remus _ ! This isn’t a game! You can’t just act like he’s Deceit, laughing and giggling and  _ flirting _ with him!  _ He doesn’t know you _ ! You’re going to end up scaring him away, or make him uncomfortable or something!”

“Oh, so it’s not like my entire  _ job _ is to make people uncomfortable, right?” Remus snapped back, playful grin gone.

“Remus, I’m just trying to protect you, I  _ swear _ . Just don’t think that everything is going to be how it was.” Roman pleaded, “I  _ know _ you’re still grieving and it must be so  _ hard _ to see Dee looking like him, but he  _ isn’t  _ Deceit, you understand?”

Remus slapped Roman’s hands off his shoulders, “Like  _ fuck _ you’re ‘just trying to protect me’! Don’t pretend that you aren’t glad he’s gone! I bet it’s  _ so _ much easier with him gone, so you don’t have to live with him and his  _ creepiness _ , right?”

Roman winced. He  _ had _ called Deceit creepy in the past, but he never thought that his words would come back to bite him—and especially in such a delicate time. 

“Remus, I miss him too—even if, yes, I  _ did _ call him creepy, he wasn’t  _ not _ nice.” Roman faltered, “But maybe—maybe we can all start over now, and we can all be—all be together, without any split between us.”

“Don’t you _dare_ act like this is a _good_ thing!” Remus snarled, sudden and _real_ anger making his eyes flash. He took a step forward, shoving Roman back, “Don’t you _fucking_ _dare_ pretend that his _fucking death_ can bring us closer and we can all be _happy_ and _nice_ and a big ol’ _family_ ,” Remus’s voice had turned mocking, scorning the thought of him ever fitting in with the Light Sides, “the only time you were interested in _that_ while _I_ was around was when _Dee_ was!” 

Roman felt a sharp knife of guilt twist in his chest, “Re, I wasn’t trying to shut you out—I thought you needed some space! I didn’t want—”

“Didn’t want  _ what _ ?” Remus snapped, “Didn’t want to be near me? Didn’t want me to remind you of Deceit? Didn’t want me to make you  _ uncomfortable? _ ”

“Re—” Roman started, but was cut off again.

“The only reason,” Remus growled lowly, literally shaking with anger, hands balled into fists at his side, “the only reason you let have a seat at your little ‘table of honor’,” his voice was shaking now, too, “Is because  _ you didn’t want to look bad in front of Dee!” _ Remus’s voice rose to a yell, and the pure  _ emotion _ that was infused into it made Roman take a step back.

Remus stepped forward right along with him, grabbing a handful of the material of Roman’s shirt, pulling so they were face-to-face,“You think that you’re the  _ good _ prince, the  _ hero _ ? Well,  _ I _ think you are a  _ living piece of human shit _ .”

Remus let go of Roman’s shirt, stepping away and furiously swiping at his eyes. He glared at Roman, then turned and reached for the door, opening it. 

He stood there for a second, back turned to Roman. Roman reached out a hand, unable to form words through the lump in his throat.

There was a moment of deafening silence.

“And for the record,” Remus spat, “I  _ know _ that Dee isn’t Deceit.” He looked over his shoulder, the tears and blood catching the light from the kitchen, “Deceit would never be so  _ nice.” _

And with that, Remus fled, slamming the door behind him, leaving Roman with tears filling his eyes and a broken feeling in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? Did you hate it? Comment about it! Want to take it a step further and yell in my DMs? Come to my tumblr astronomical-bagel to yell at me!
> 
> (Corrections for typos or any are greatly appreciated)


	10. Tears of Grief and Tears in Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title: Whoops, Remus is Crying and Rip Dee
> 
> (Get it? A rip? Like a tear? In a memory? But also like rest in peace?)
> 
> (I know, I’m absolutely hilarious)
> 
> Also, I finished early so I decided to post on Thursday instead of Friday! (Also happy birthday donttouchmeyoumuggle!)

Remus fled down the hallways, tears blinding his vision. He fumbled with his doorknob when he finally reached his door, then yanked the door open and stumbled inside, sobs ripping out of his throat. He threw himself into his bed, almost tripping over a pile of bones or something on the way. 

For a while he lay there, not even bothering to get under the covers, clutching his pillow. He hated Roman, he hated he hated he  _ hated _ him. He wanted—he wanted to—

His mind stumbled, unable to think of something horrible enough to properly convey his emotions. A new bout of sobbing struck Remus, and he curled up, arms clutching his stomach in the fetal position.

Why did everything have to get so  _ bad _ ? Why did Deceit die? And  _ why _ did the subconscious have to send that—that  _ replacement  _ that had  _ no _ business being so  _ nice _ and  _ sweet _ and  _ patient _ with him? And  _ why _ did he have to look like Deceit? 

Deceit—the reserved, elegant, but surprisingly silly snake that Remus had spent the majority of twenty-three years with. Deceit—the boy who had stretched his hand out to Remus, when everyone else called him evil, a monster who needed to be caged. Deceit—the first person who had ever showed him an ounce of human kindness. And Deceit—the man he had fallen deeply, undoubtedly, irrevocably in love with from the moment he had met him. And now he was  _ gone _ .

~~_ He’s gone he’s really gone he can’t be gone he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone gone gone gone _ ~~

Remus choked out another sob, hands moving up from his stomach to his arms, sharp nails digging in with a self-directed malice behind them, drawing little pricks of blood through the fabric. 

~~_ Blood blood blood I’m bleeding  _ he’s  _ bleeding he shouldn’t be bleeding no not like this make it  _ **_stop_ ** ~~

If Deceit were here, he’d gently pry Remus’s hands away, scolding him gently. He’d wipe away the blood and tears with a whisk of his hand, and he’d hold Remus until he calmed down, telling him stories where his enemies died a gruesome death.

~~_ But not him  _ never  _ him stories don’t end this way  _ yes they do  _ can’t bad guys just win  _ once? ~~

But Deceit  _ wasn’t  _ here, that was the  _ point. _ He was  _ gone _ , and he was never,  _ ever _ going to come back.

~~_ Dead dead he’s dead he can’t be dead of course he is no he isn’t he’s never died before _ I gotta make it stop ~~

A cruel, desolate, and  _ lonely  _ feeling washed over him, and he curled in tighter around himself, fingernails digging in tighter in a twisted rendition of giving himself a hug. Another sob racked his body, tears and snot making his face slick and his pillow soggy. 

~~_ Dead dead dead dead spurting wet on my hands  _ did I do this  _ stop stop stop stop  _ **_stop_ ** _ too fast gotta make it stop no no no no _ ~~

The intense sobs made him mind-numbingly tired, but he fought off sleep, not wanting to have to see Deceit’s face, cruelly alive and happy in his dreams. He clutched his pillow again, hiccuping. His sobs slowed after what felt like  _ hours _ , deteriorating into frequent sniffles and hiccups, and soon enough, those slowed too. 

~~_ Gone. I saw him. He’s gone. _ ~~

Remus gave one final, weak sob, his body not having the strength for anything more. Grief clawed at his chest, but Remus’s well of tears had dried, and his energy supplies had been depleted. He did nothing more than sniff, making a wet ‘ _ snrk _ ’ resound throughout the room.

Remus flipped his pillow, taking comfort in its coolness and lack of snot and tears. He pulled the covers over himself and curled under them, hugging his sides once more. He protested against the lull of sleep, but fighting the exhaustion was like struggling against quicksand. His eyes were heavy, pulled downwards in cruel, relentless plot to force him to sleep, to force Remus to see him, to see  _ Deceit _ again. 

~~_ He can’t die don’t make me see him die. _ ~~

But as most find, he was unable to resist the persuasion of rest, and he fell into a troubled and memory-infested sleep.

_~~Please~~. _

— — —

Dee didn’t sleep well that night. Dreams were confusing, and they came with a strange and awful feeling of  _ familiarity, _ yet the feeling of complete and utter  _ wrongness  _ and he  _ didn’t like it _ .

_ Dee saw the yellow gloves again, this time just sitting on a dresser, looking hastily thrown. Dee was reminded of his own gloves, and he glanced down to look at them, only to find that his hands were bare. He glanced back up, and the gloves on the counter, which were fingered before, were now his own fingerless motorcycle gloves. _

_ He heard a noise behind him, a deep thud, and the clinking of what sounded like chainmail, but like, if the chainmail had plates for the chains. _

_ Dee whipped around, what he saw before him made his knees feel like they were made of mashed potatoes. There was a huge, mountainous reptile, with fiery eyes and smoke billowing out of its nostrils. He took a step back as huge, leathery wings opened up from the dragon’s back. It roared, a terrifying, deafening sound, and then Dee was falling. _

  
  


_ - _

  
  


_ It was black. Very black. Wind rushed around his ears, making a hat that he had been wearing fly off his head. Dee screamed as he fell, but all sound was whipped from his lips. _

_ He hit the ground. _

_ - _

_ “Hey, what do you think would happen if you choked someone with all six hands?” Remus asked to his left. He was sitting in a cauldron filled with what looked like hot water, leaning on the rim with his head resting in his hand, except it wasn’t a hand, it was a tentacle. It seemed that both his arms and legs had been octo-fied. _

_ Dee looked down at his multiple arms. One pair was resting on the armrests on his chair, another pair was fiddling with the buttons on his outfit, and the last was patching up what looked like an old blanket. _

_ “Well, I suppose they would get choked.” Dee heard himself reply. _

_ “What would happen if you choked  _ me  _ with all your hands?” Remus asked. _

_ “Wouldn’t happen.” Dee dismissed, one hand waving as if to dispel the notion. _

_ “Whelp, gotta go, DeeDee!” Remus said, suddenly at the door, fully clothed and human, grinning maniacally, “I have to assassinate Roman now!” He skipped out the door, closing it with, “Watch out for the Dragon Witch!” _

The Dragon Witch?

_ And suddenly he was in the gigantic dragon’s talons, the huge claws squeezing him until he thought his ribs were going to crack. He struggled as the dragon grinned, her sharp teeth glistening as she began to chuckle. _

_ Then her sharp canine became a sword, held in the hands of Roman. Dee was on the ground, certain that the prince was going to attack him. Virgil, Logan, and Patton were behind him. Patton looked frightened, and his eyes gave the impression of feeling almost guilty, yet there was no sympathy as Dee gave him a pleading look. Logan was crossing his arms, little to no emotion on his face. There was no aid coming from him, and when Dee looked to Virgil for help, he found that the anxious side was all-out glaring. Dee felt a sad  _ pang  _ in his chest. _

_ Roman took a step forward, “Go back where you came from, Doctor Doofen _ snake,  _ or I’ll make you!” _

_ Dee backed up, limbs shaking, “I  _ was _ doing something  _ awful! _ ” He tried to convince them. _

_ Virgil’s lip curled in a sneer, “Like we’d believe  _ that _. Get out.” _

_ - _

_ Dee was in his room, sunflower paintings bright and cheery. Remus and Roman were on his bed again, along with the pile of knives. Remus was still bleeding, blood soaking into the blankets. _

_ Remus held up Dee’s knife, “Isn’t it pretty?” _

_ Dee opened his mouth to say that yes, it  _ was _ an elegant knife, but why was no one paying attention to the blood pool spreading from underneath Remus? _

_ No sound came out. _

_ “Put those away, Re,” Roman sighed, “Dee doesn’t want to see them. Look at him, he’s bored.” _

_ Dee shook his head. He wasn’t bored. He found the knives interesting. But he couldn’t say a word to his or Remus’s defense. _

_ Remus frowned in disappointment, “You don’t like them?” He asked, a hurt expression on his face. He continued to bleed. _

No. I do like them, I promise.  _ Dee wanted to assure the mustached side,  _ But...you’re bleeding. Are you alright? 

_ With the lack of answer, Remus’s expression turned morose, “I miss you.” _

_ Dee’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and Remus looked down at the knife again. It was buried in his gut, blood spurting from the wound. Remus didn’t seem surprised, instead adjusting the knife, as if it was just slightly uncomfortable. _

Are you okay?  _ Dee wanted to ask. _

_ The creative side looked up, tears and blood streaming down his face. _

_ “I miss you.” He said again. _

— — —

Dee woke up.

(Wait, that sounded too simple, let’s try again)

Dee’s eyes opened into the pitch black of his room, heart pounding in his chest.

(Oh, now it’s too dramatic? Well, suck it, because I don’t want to come up with a reasonable, non-cliche way for someone to wake up)

Dee scrubbed at his eyes and checked his new alarm clock. It was three thirty-eight. Wonderful.

He didn’t like that dream—well, no, it was a  _ nightmare _ , but who really cares anyways? Dee didn’t.

Dee didn’t know  _ why _ fate decided for him to have his second nightmare in…what, five days? Like, come  _ on _ , give him a break! He wasn’t even a week old yet!

Dee shifted and threw his legs over the side of the couch, rubbing his eyes as the last bits of the drea—no,  _ nightmare _ — faded from his memory, until all that was left was a general feeling of unease.

Dreams were weird like that. He remembered Thomas being able to quote an insignificant dream he had had once, and yet he couldn’t remember a nightmare two seconds after he had woken up.

Well, he supposed he didn’t want to know about the nightmare, since, well, it was a  _ nightmare. _

What Dee was really peeved about, though, was that it was three forty in the morning and he just  _ knew _ it was going to take him  _ ages _ to go to sleep.

Dee padded over to the connected bathroom Roman had helped him add a couple hours ago and got a drink from the sink. 

(What? Everyone does it.)

(Stop judging,  _ Lynda, _ I know it’s you again)

(ANYways)

Dee wiped his mouth and took a good long look at himself in the mirror, his infrared eye aiding him. Well, first off, he looked like  _ shit, _ and second of all…he still looked like shit. His hair was all mussy, his clothes wrinkled—he should really make some pajamas—and his eye bags had  _ no  _ business being  _ that  _ prominent,  _ especially  _ since he had just woken up. Dee made a face at himself, his scales making an almost chainmail-sounding noise with the movement.

That thought made recognition flicker in his mind. That must have been part of his nightmare. It made his knees feel weak, and all the breath left his lungs. He gripped the counter at the sudden flash of terror, before relaxing and giving himself a confused look.

_ Huh. _

Dee blinked at himself. That must have been one  _ hell _ of a nightmare.

But it was three forty-four now, and he wanted to sleep. No time for puzzling out mysterious nightmares. As he made his way to his bed, he glared at the all-too-cheery sunflowers in a picture frame on his nightstand. He had said he  _ liked _ sunflowers, not that he wanted to  _ drown  _ in them. Roman had acted peeved that Dee didn’t know much about himself, and promptly decorated however the hell he wanted to. Apparently, when he and Remus had split, he had formed knowing immediately what he liked and disliked. The lucky little fuck. He actually got to have  _ diversity _ in his room.

But perhaps that was too harsh. His room, although a bit too bright and Pinterest-y for his tastes, looked nice. It was a good start, anyhow. He could always change things up if he wanted.

Dee climbed under his covers, relishing the warmth of it. He had seemed to acquire some other reptilian tendencies besides his scales and eye, like hypersensitivity to cold _. _ Like, he was  _ really super heckin’  _ sensitive to cold, okay? 

Zoomorphic tendencies aside, Dee was tired, and even if he knew he wasn’t going to fall asleep until somewhere around four thirty, laying in his bed doing nothing sounded  _ great _ , so Dee folded his arms around himself and stubbornly closed his eyes. He would fall back asleep if it killed him.

— — —

Well, it didn’t kill him, and Dee sure didn’t get his money’s worth of shut-eye in the next four hours or so. It was off and on, and he couldn’t seem to get perfectly comfortable or warm. So when Patton knocked on the door at seven thirty, Dee didn’t even yawn as he got up. He did groan, though. Curse the nightmare that prevented a decent night’s rest.

Dee wasn’t grumpy, per se, just tired. It didn’t help, though, that he had spent the majority of the last four hours bored out of his mind. Well, he was up and at ‘em now, so he guessed he would just have to suffer.

It was quiet at the table. Not like the day before, where it was punctuated by pouring coffee and little murmurs of thanks from the grateful recipients. Today it was tense. Roman was late, later than Virgil, who usually only came just as Pat was serving the food. Remus didn’t show up to the table at  _ all _ , and when Dee questioned Patton about it, the paternal side only shrugged.

Perhaps the garbage man was sick, but he saw the almost-hidden redness of Roman’s eyes, and the way his hand shook as he spooned some Captain Crunch into his mouth. The creative side only spoke once the entire meal, and that was to ask for a napkin when his hand trembled so much that the cereal sloshed off the spoon and onto the table. His voice was small, almost timid as he spoke. Dee hadn’t known Roman for long, but it broke his heart to hear the normally boisterous side so...broken.

Dee’s other counterparts seemed to share the sentiment, sending sympathetic and worried glances towards Roman as he ducked his head down to eat. His face was mostly hidden from the sides, but Dee saw him swipe at his eyes two or three times, making Dee decide that this was too sad for him to do nothing, so he got up and poured the rest of his cereal into the garbage disposal. He couldn’t eat after that.

Patton followed Dee’s lead and collected his own cereal bowl and dumped it in the sink. He asked Roman in a whisper if he was done, and the creative side waved his hand in confirmation. After the bowl was gone, Roman buried his face in his arms.

Virgil set his bowl away as well and sat down to Roman, awkwardly patting his back in comfort as the creative side’s shoulders began to quietly shake.

“What happened?” Dee asked Logan, who also put away his bowl.

Logan adjusted his glasses, sending an almost lost look at Roman, “I..” he shook his head and focused on Dee, “Well, I wasn’t there, but I believe that it would be pertinent to say that he had a fight with Remus.” He glanced over to the crying side again, “But...I have to say that in the aftermath of one of their fights Roman has  _ never _ been so…” he waved his hand searching for the right word, “...distressed.”

Dee could feel the weight of the situation. He hadn’t known Roman for long, but with him so ‘distressed’, as Logan had put it, all the energy seemed like it had been sucked out of the room. Roman was normally so...boisterous and full of life, he was the prince, the hero. Even Dee felt lost without him doing his normal grand acts and dramatic movements, and he could only imagine what it felt like for the rest of the sides, who had known Roman for much, much longer than Dee had.

And the absence of Remus stuck out like a sore thumb, too. There had been no...exotic outburst, or creepy jokes during breakfast, and it was strange to not have the excitable side get up in his face at least once.

“Should one of us bring Remus some food?” Dee whisper-asked Logan.

“I don’t think that would be beneficial.” Logan whispered back, “If Remus is in a likewise state, then he might become violent. It would probably be best if we gave him some space.”

Dee shivered, but nodded. He could imagine that would happen. Remus had already tried to cut off Logan’s fingers, and that was on a  _ good _ day.

Dee turned to the sink, grabbing a bowl and a scrub. There were only a few dishes, so it didn’t take long to wash them all.

Dee made his way back to his room, glancing at Roman as he left. The creative side’s face was now buried in Virgil’s shoulder, little hiccups and sobs emanating from him. Virgil was (very) awkwardly rubbing his back, attempting to console him.

Dee smiled, a little sad smile, and walked to his room, footsteps loud in the unnaturally quiet house. He reached for the disappearing/reappearing doorknob and opened his door. He supposed that it wouldn’t hurt to try to go back to sleep.

But as he laid under his covers, sleep eluded him once more. Roman had dragged Remus out of  _ his _ room, and it seemed like right after they had had the argument. Had Dee said something that spurred the dispute? What if  _ he _ was the reason that Roman was crying, and Remus wouldn’t even come out of his room?

Dee tried to push the worries and doubts out of his mind, but they gnawed at him as he lay in his bed, and pursued his thoughts as he gave up on sleeping and started playing on his phone. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it was his fault.

As Dee died once more at Geometry Dash, he sighed and glanced at the time at the top of his phone. It was eleven thirty. Almost time for lunch.

Dee rolled out of his warm bed with a groan. He’d go make a sandwich or something and come back. 

It was quiet in the common room. It looked like everyone had decided to go to their rooms as well, most likely wanting to escape the dreary feeling that hung in the air.

Dee got out the stuff for a tuna sandwich, grimacing as the juice inside the can spilled out as he opened it. Eating tuna came with a great price, it seemed. Now he’d have to sop up the mess.

He dumped all the ingredients in a bowl and mixed them all together, then scooped the substance into some bread. He hesitated as he saw that there was extra tuna in the bowl, and deliberated for a moment before making another sandwich. He didn’t think Remus had come out of his room at all, and he was bound to be hungry. He’d just go in Remus’s room for a moment, he wouldn’t mind.

Dee set the two sandwiches in the toaster oven, cleaning up the spill as he waited. After a minute or so, the toaster beeped, and Dee set the sandwiches on some plates.

Dee made his way to Remus’s door. It wasn’t the easiest to find, since he hadn’t gone this way before. See, the placement of the rooms in the mindscape looked pretty random, but they kinda meant something, some more than others. The rooms moved every once in a while, although it was an extremely rare and momentous occurrence, apparently (Logan had explained it to him). Virgil’s room was up the stairs, because that’s where he usually sat when having a conversation with Thomas. Patton’s room was closest to the kitchen and living room, because the commons was where he had his best memories, and he felt at home close to them.

But Remus’s room was at the end of a long hallway, far away from the others. Had the other sides really ostracized Remus so much that his room was as far away from them as possible? 

Dee felt a worm of fear wriggle in his gut as he remembered Logan’s warning. But that was stupid. Remus wasn’t going to hurt him, and even if he was going to attack, Dee had seen Logan get his fingers cut off and he hadn’t even flinched. He didn’t think anything Remus did could  _ really  _ hurt him.

But still, Dee was a little nervous as he came up to Remus’s door. It was painted a deep green, the paint chipping. It had deep gouges in the wood, with some suspicious rust-red splotches running down from the doorknob. It also had a couple knives and ninja stars buried inside the wood, some poking out from the other side.

Dee knocked on Remus’s door, awkwardly balancing the plates one hand, “Hey, Remus?” He called softly, “I brought you some food.”

Dee heard loud sniffle from behind the green door, “Go ‘way,” Dee heard, “I’m not hungry.”

“Are you sure?” Dee asked gently, “You didn’t eat breakfast.”

When there was no answer, Dee tentatively cracked open the door. Remus was curled up on his bed, arms curled around himself (and just the slightest bit green) and his knees brought up to his chest. His face was buried in his pillow in an attempt to ignore Dee.

“I  _ don’t  _ want to talk,  _ Patso. _ ” Remus hissed through the pillow, grip on his arms tightening.

“Well, you don’t have to talk,” Dee said as he sat down on the crying side’s bed and set the plates down, “but you might want to eat.”

Remus didn’t respond, but Dee’s caught his fingers digging in deeper into his arms. Dee’s eyes widened,  _ Holy shit, is that  _ blood?

“Remus!” Dee leaned closer to the curled-up form so he could pry the creative side’s fingers out of his arms. His sharp fingernails were red with blood, “Remus, you shouldn’t—that’s not—” Dee cut himself off as Remus looked up, something akin to wonderment in his eyes.

“You’re not Patton.” Remus mumbled, expression still surprised— and mixed with something else that Dee couldn’t name.

Dee gave him a nervous little side grin,“Was I supposed to be?”

Remus blinked at him, “I guess not.”

“Well, uh, I guess since you said you didn’t want to talk, I’ll be going now.” Dee climbed off the bed and onto his feet.

“No!” Remus’s hand shot out, grabbing Dee’s arm, his eyes wide and almost panicked, “You can—you can stay.”

Dee blinked at Remus’s bloody fingers on his arm, then looked at Remus, “Okay.”

Remus relaxed and laid back down, and Dee hesitantly sat down as well, “You know, Roman’s really sorry,” Dee told Remus quietly, “And...for the record, I am too.”

Remus twisted so he could face Dee better, expression puzzled, “Why?”

Dee fiddled with his gloves, pulling off and sliding back on each finger one by one, “Well, I don’t know what it was about, but I know it happened right after you guys left my room. So,” Dee looked up at Remus, “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t you.” Remus mumbled, playing with the ruffles on the end of his sleeve.

“Well…” Dee trailed off, not sure what to say, “Roman...was really broken up during breakfast today. He really is sorry for whatever happened between you two.”

Remus sat up and scrubbed at his eyes, sniffing, “Yeah, well…” he trailed off, looking down, “I guess I’m sorry, too.” Remus looked up again, eyes refilling with tears, “I really messed up.”

“Hey, hey,” Dee comforted, setting his hand on Remus’s arm, “Roman isn’t mad at you. If he  _ is _ mad, then his guilt outweighs his anger. If you talk to him, I’m sure that everything will turn out fine.”

“But I don’t  _ wanna _ talk to him!” Remus cried, swiping at the tears that were spilling out, “I—I  _ can’t _ talk to him. Not after—not after what I said to him”

“What do you guys usually do when you get into an argument?” Dee asked Remus.

“I don’t know!” Remus cried, “Usually we forget about it the next day! We’ve never—we’ve never had such a big argument before!”

With that, Remus hiccuped out a sob and began crying again, wiping at his eyes and nose as he curled in on himself, bringing his knees to his chest. The creative side’s hands clutched his arms again, nails starting to dig in once more.

“Remus—” Dee grabbed the crying side’s hands to stop him from hurting himself again, “you can’t— you _got_ to stop that. I won’t stand to see you hurt yourself”

Remus shrugged, gaze downcast, mumbling,“Doesn’t really matter.”

“Oh, Remus,” Dee ran his thumbs over Remus’s knuckles in a comforting gesture, “of  _ course  _ it matters.” 

Remus sniffed and ducked his head to rub his nose with his arm, unable to do it normally because Dee was still clenching his hands. Dee didn’t let go, though, unwilling to let Remus hurt himself again.

“Did you know,” Remus started quietly, and sniffed, “did you know that when Roman and I split, the others made me live away from them?”

Dee sucked in a breath,“They left you all alone?” Dee asked, somewhat horrified. Logan had mentioned that Thomas was only in third grade when Roman and Remus split. To be shunned at such a young age...it must have been so scary for him, traumatic, even.

“No.” Remus said simply, “Virgil showed up later. Roman visited sometimes, too. He…he was worried about me.” Remus gave a small, pitiful laugh, wiping his eyes, “He really  _ does _ care. I—I don’t know why—” Remus choked on a sob, and suddenly Dee had a teary, snotty, Remus clinging to his neck, crying onto his shoulder.

Dee stiffened in surprise, not expecting Remus to hug him so suddenly. In a brief moment of panic, his mind flashed to what Logan had warned him about,  _ ‘He might become violent.’ _ But as common sense returned, he realized that he wasn’t being attacked. Dee hesitantly stroked Remus’s hair, the crying side’s frame shaking against Dee’s.

Dee held Remus for a long several minutes, just trying to comfort the side the best he could. He didn’t really know him, and he had absolutely zero experience in comforting others, but he  _ couldn’t _ just do nothing to help.

As Remus’s shaking ceased, and his sobs evened out to sniffles, a thought nagged at Dee.

“Hey, Remus?” Dee asked quietly, “This probably isn’t the right time, but… we all choose our names, right?”

Remus nodded into his neck with a loud sniff, and Dee continued carefully, “Well...you don’t really have to answer this but… why did you choose your name? I mean, I  _ know _ the story of Romulus and Remus, and… well, I’m sure you know, but Romulus  _ killed _ Remus. Remus  _ lost, _ and…I don’t know, it seems odd that you would chose that name, while Roman chose his?”

Remus’s voice was muffled as he responded in a teary voice, “Because—because I  _ did _ lose. I lost and Roman won and then they sent me away because I’m  _ bad _ . And—” a half-sob managed to escape Remus’s mouth, “And Roman’s good, and he won, s-so I—I guess I took it to heart.”

And if Remus hadn’t already squeezed his heart to little bits before, it’d be in a million pieces now, anyways. Dee had to bit his lip to keep his own tears from forming, “I’m sorry.”

Dee wasn’t quite sure what he was apologizing for, but it seemed like he should. Remus seemed to understand, and just responded with a shrug and a grunt.

Dee worried his lip with his teeth, “For the record—” he started, “ _ I _ don’t think you’re bad.”

Remus had been calming down, but that sentence seemed to open the floodgates again. Remus’s breath hitched, before he clung to Dee tighter than before, sobs ringing out loudly as the side sobbed into Dee’s jacket.

They sat there for who knows how long, the tuna sandwiches long forgotten. Dee didn’t even mind that Remus was on his leg and it was falling asleep. The creative side, although much,  _ much _ taller than Dee, seemed so small right now, like a baby bird. A very  _ warm _ baby bird.

Curse his reptilian tendencies.

Dee tried not to get sleepy, he really did, but Remus’s sobs had slowed and he was...just...so..warm…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just have to say, the Creativitwins have a healthy relationship and really appreciate each other and get really sad when they have a big fight and y’all can fight me on this


	11. The Only Reason that this is a Separate Chapter is that I Didn’t Want a Six Thousand Word Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY VALENTINES DAY

Dee woke up.

(What was that? We’ve been through this before? It’s too simple? Oh shit you’re right lemme fix that)

Dee’s eyes flashed open as soft hair ticked his scales. His mind reeled for a moment as he failed to recognize his surroundings. Where was he?

Dee’s attention was brought to the human in his arms, practically glued to him. Remus?

Dee blinked in confusion, then relaxed as he remembered how he got into this situation. Then he tensed again as he remembered that he was _in_ this situation.

_Well, shit._

_This is going to be_ really _awkward._

Dee slowly released Remus from his grip, and when I say slowly, I mean _slowly._ He _really_ didn’t want Remus to wake up, because the poor boi deserved a break and some rest. Dee got the feeling that he hadn’t slept well in a while, if the eye bags that were revealed after Remus cried his makeup off were any hint.

But he didn’t want to just _leave_ Remus. That didn’t sound very polite to do, especially when the side had just been sobbing a couple a couple hours before.

Actually—he didn’t know how long he had slept. Dee raised his head, careful not to disturb Remus. Where was his clock? Did the Dumpster Disaster just tell time by instinct and whim? 

As Dee was scanning the room, he noticed how _creepy_ it was. There was an... _unnecessary_ amount of blood on the walls, and Dee wasn’t quite sure where the wavering, pale green light was coming from. Under the bed, maybe? Well, even with a light source, shadows seemed to cling to the walls. There were also what looked like...fishing nets? On the walls? Well, strange taste in decor, but it didn’t actually look bad.

Dee set his head back down on the pillow. He didn’t have the heart—or the strength— to just leave Remus, but he didn’t want to go back to sleep, so he supposed he would just have to wait.

Suddenly, Remus tightened his grip, a low whine escaping his throat.

Dee looked down at the side, “...Remus?” He whispered quietly.

The green-clad side didn’t respond, except for squeezing even tighter, gripping Dee’s leather jacket.

“Are you...awake?” Dee asked, voice low.

The creative side mumbled something into Dee’s jacket.

“What?” Dee leaned back so he could try to see Remus’s face, “You’re going to have to—” Dee cut himself off as he realized that Remus’s eyes were still closed. He must have been sleep talking.

Remus whimpered in his sleep, his grip becoming even tighter on Dee’s jacket.

Dee’s heart clenched in sympathy as he realized that Remus was having a nightmare. Dee stroked the side’s hair, trying to comfort him. What did people do in the movies? They pet their hair, and didn’t they like, sing to them or something?

Well, Dee sure as hell wasn’t going to _sing_ to Remus, but just talking to him couldn’t hurt, right?

So Dee spoke to Remus in a soft voice, “Hey, don’t worry, Remus, I’m here. Um, you’re safe and all that.” Dee cleared his throat awkwardly, “Uh…what do people talk about when comforting someone? Like, think happy thoughts—but I guess your job is the opposite of that, huh? Well, er...blood and death and ...apocalypse stuff, I guess.”

Dee paused, unable to think of what else to say, and he realized Remus had relaxed. Dee smiled fondly as he continued to play with Remus’s hair. There was always something so sweet when you saw something while they were sleeping. He could almost understand why Patton had taken pictures of them on the couch yesterday.

Time passed (it tends to do that), with Dee just playing with Remus’s hair. Dee’s stomach growled, and he realized that they hadn’t eaten the sandwiches that he had made. What time was it anyway? Was it dinnertime? Were the others waiting for them? Or were they not even having family dinner tonight, like just fending for themselves?

Dee decided not to worry his fellow sides, even if it wasn’t dinnertime. But doing that also meant waking up Remus, which was _undoubtedly_ going to result in a lack of warmth. But he supposed he had to get it over with at _some_ point.

“Remus?” Dee whispered quietly, looking down at the sleeping side, “Hey, Remus, wake up.” He shook him gently. 

The creative side groaned and buried deeper into Dee’s shirt. Dee rolled his eyes.

“Come on,” he told Remus, shaking him harder, “I have no idea what time it is. We might miss dinner.”

Remus groaned again, looking up at Dee, “Wha…?” he mumbled.

Dee ruffled Remus’s hair, unable to resist the floofiness of it, “Time to wake up.”

Remus unwrapped his arms from around Dee and sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Dee marveled at how sharp his teeth were. He bet Remus could bite rubber and it would cut clean off. 

Remus looked down at Dee, blinking, “What would you do if I stabbed you, right now?” he asked.

Dee’s eyebrows furrowed as he sat up, a little put off by the question, “Well...maybe scream.” He said slowly, then thought about it, “Would it even hurt? I mean, you do stuff like that to Logan sometimes and he’s never bothered, but Pat and the others are, but I guess I wouldn’t be too terrified, anyways, so I maybe I’d just sit there?” Dee looked at Remus, “Would you rather I scream?”

“Well, that depends,” Remus grinned at him, “what do you want to do right now?”

Dee looked down. Confirming his suspicions, a silver knife with a green spiral on the hilt was currently buried in his gut, blood oozing out of the wound.

_Ah._

Dee looked back up, opening his mouth and closing it again as he tried to formulate a reply to being _stabbed_. Screaming probably wouldn’t help. There was surely a way to respond while still keeping his dignity, right? Hadn’t he seen a Tumblr post about this yesterday?

Dee’s mouth quirked in a half grin as he responded, “So are you gonna want this back, or can I keep it?” 

Remus’s grin might have literally reached his ears, “You can keep it!” He cried, clapping his hands. Then he grabbed Dee’s wrist and more or less flew out of the room. He seemed to have recovered from his earlier despair, and now had enough energy to power a whole block full of video game-obsessed monkeys who were scared of the dark.

As Remus dragged Dee out of the room, Dee had a flash of déjà vu. Hadn’t he done this recently, but with Roman? The twins _were_ really alike. Probably more alike than they cared to admit 

Speaking of Remus’s twin, Dee saw him peeking around the corner of the hallway, looking like he had been trying to gather his courage to talk to Remus. Remus emitted a gasp when he saw his brother, and let go of Dee’s arm to sprint even faster. Dee stumbled to a stop and watched as Remus tackle-hugged his twin.

“Roman!” The green-clad Creativity cried, “I’m sorry!”

Roman stumbled back, eyes wide with surprise. Be blinked quickly and buried his face in Remus’s shoulder, hugging his brother back, “...I’m sorry, too.” 

Remus laughed with pure _delight_ and leaned back to look his brother in his face, obscuring Roman from Dee’s view, “Guess what, Ro! I stabbed Dee and he didn’t even scream!”

Dee heard Roman chuckle, “That’s great, _mi gremelo.”_

Remus released Roman from his hug and grabbed him by the wrist, then ran back to Dee, and grabbed _his_ wrist, “C’mon! I’m hungry!” And with that, he started sprinting towards the kitchen again.

As they were trying not to get their arms ripped off by Remus, Roman caught Dee’s eye and mouthed a silent, “ _Thank you,”_ to him. 

Dee smiled.

_“No problem_ ,” He mouthed back.

Roman grinned and sprinted to keep up with his brother.

The twins seemed to suddenly agree on a race, and they both kicked into a higher gear, both laughing. Dee was left hopelessly behind, and stumbled to a stop at the threshold of the living room.

About three seconds ago, he saw Virgil, Logan, and Patton all a couch or armchair, all either reading a book or on their phone. The mood had been dismal, and the mindscape had changed itself itself to match, becoming less vibrant, and almost grayscale in its dreariness.

But when the twins burst into the room, Dee watched the others _literally_ brighten the room up with their smiles and laughter. Virgil sat up, removing his headphones off one ear, a surprised, yet relieved, smile on his face as he watched the twins come in. Patton looked up from reading over Logan’s shoulder, and his whole face lit up with a grin. Even Logan had a small smile on his face.

“Let’s eat dinner!” Remus shouted jubilantly.

“Yeah!” Roman agreed with him, “I’m hungry!”

Patton’s laugh rang out, “Of course! What do you want?”

“Beef!” Remus cried out.

Simultaneously, Roman yelled, “Ramen!” 

Patton laughed again, this one seeming to bubble right up from his toes, “Beef ramen it is, then!” He more or less skipped to the stove, summoning the unhealthy noodles.

Both the twins seemed satisfied with that, and Remus hugged his brother again, wide, sharp smile never leaving his face. Roman laughed and ruffled his brother’s hair.

Dee watched from the threshold of the living room doorway as Virgil set his chin in the hand that was propped up on his knee and snarked out a witty quip, which Roman returned with vigor. Logan closed his book and set it on the coffee table, mentioning how they were all ‘savages in the least complimenting way’ and that they were so loud he ‘couldn’t think straight’.

Roman snorted at that, “Do you _ever?_ ”

Logan smirked and adjusted and said something witty in reply, and Remus made a crude comment— something very gay, no doubt—and Virgil made a disgusted noise and Roman laughed and they were all so _happy._

Dee stood still in the doorway, trying his _damned_ hardest not to let his loneliness show on his face. All of his counterparts were welcoming, but when you boiled it down to its bare parts...he was still a stranger.

~~He wondered why it felt so _familiar._ ~~

Dee’s eyes wandered uncertainly and he idly looked down. The knife was still buried in his stomach—he had forgotten it was there. Dee yanked it out and sent it to his room, (kind of like how Steven would bubble things and send them to that cave-thing) and his wound healed itself.

In fifteen or so minutes—during which Dee tried to make himself invisible against the doorway (and succeeded, apparently)— Patton called out that dinner was ready, and they all paraded to the table, all still laughing and making half-hearted insults at each other. Dee was silent as they ate, just watching the others around him.

His counterparts weren’t _actively_ alienating him. Actually, they weren’t _doing_ any alienating. They chatted with him, and Remus got into his face like he normally did. Dee could join in on the conversations and jokes like he normally did. But he didn’t. He didn’t think he had the stomach to.

Why? Well, that was kind of a tough question. The best answer he could give to himself was that he just had a deep, inexplicable, profound sense of _wrongness_.

What was wrong? He couldn’t find any problems with the scene in front of him. His family was happy and laughing. Roman and Remus were buddy-buddy again, Patton was back to his bubbly self, Virgil was as sassy as ever, and even Logan was playing nice.

But the story Remus had told him earlier...something about that was bugging him. Not just how unfair it was if the other sides to force him out like that, (although, they were just kids; they probably had no idea how to properly treat the situation) but Dee got the distinct feeling that there was...more…

Dee rubbed his temple, squeezing his eyes shut. He could feel a headache coming on.

“You good, Dee?” Someone, probably Virgil or Patton asked.

“Yeah,” Dee said, eyes still closed, “I just have a headache.”

“Drink some water.” Someone—no, wait, that was definitely Patton—commanded.

Dee blinked hard as he looked up, the lights suddenly too bright. He tried to keep his voice chipper, though, “Sure thing, Pops.”

Dee accepted the proffered glass of water and downed it. The others, although not stopping in the amount of conversations, did try to talk a little quieter, much to Dee’s relief.

The water helped his headache a little, although the lessing of noise helped more, and Dee was able to appreciate how _alive_ everything look compared to earlier that morning. Roman bragged about it once as a joke, but he really was the life of the party. Remus, was too, although in a much...different way. It was a good thing Remus seemed to like being annoying to other people, because everyone seemed pretty annoyed. Their annoyance almost seemed fond, though. Weird dynamic.

Dee didn’t know how long he just watched the rest of the sides chat with each other. Ten, fifteen minutes? Either his headache was making it hard to think straight (ha) or he was just naturally bad at telling time, his inner clock seemed to be broken. Dee yawned.

Patton’s eyes were immediately on him, “You’re tired, Dee? You should get some rest.”

“No, I’m good.” Dee told him, but Patton persisted.

“Nope. You’re sleepy. You go rest, I’ll clean the dishes.”

Dee shrugged, not willing to fight with him. Truth be told, he _was_ pretty tired, and his headache seemed to get stronger every passing minute. He stood up, leaving his half-empty bowl of ramen, and bid everyone goodnight.

— — —

Dee was in his room, lights dimmed to stave off the headache, doing mundane going to bed routines that weren’t important enough to actually write in here, when Roman cracked open the door.

“Dee?” 

Dee turned towards his door, “Yes?”

“Can I come in?” Roman asked tentatively.

Dee sat down on his bed, “Of course.”

Roman came in all the way, smiling gratefully, “I like your doorknob.” He complemented.

Dee blinked. He had almost forgotten about its disappearing/reappearing factor, “...Thanks,” he told him, a bit hesitant, then resumed, “but I assume you didn’t come here to admire my door hardware?”

“Uh, yes.” Roman sat down on Dee’s bed, feet planted on the floor, and stared intently at his knees. He almost seemed...nervous?

“I came to thank you,” Roman said, still not making eye contact, “and—to apologize.”

Dee blinked, “Apologize?”

Roman gave him a weak grin, “Let me get to the thanking part first.”

Dee nodded, signaling Roman to continue, and the creative side took a deep breath, “It is no doubt that you said something to Remus that made him forgive me so easily, so thank you.”

“Actually, he thought _he_ was the one _you_ should be mad at.” Dee offered.

Roman blinked in bewilderment, “He _did?_ ”

“Yeah!” Dee nodded his head, “Whatever happened, he acted like he was to blame.”

“But he acted so _mad._ ” Roman murmured to himself.

Dee shrugged, “I guess that’s how arguments go. Y’know, if you all just _communicated_ well, you could have avoided this whole thing. Ask Pat—I’m sure he says things like that all the time.”

Roman thought about it for a second then turned back to Dee, “Anyhow, whatever you said gave Remus the courage to do what I could not. Thank you.”

“I— I didn’t really _mean_ to.” Dee confessed, uncertain how to take the thanks, “I just brought him a sandwich, and then he was crying and it just...happened.”

Roman looked up at him, “Just take my gratitude, already, man!” He demanded, grinning, “This is really hard for me!”

Dee laughed, holding his hands up in surrender, “Fine, fine. You’re welcome, and all that.”

Roman chuckled, then quickly sobered and stared intently at his pants again, picking at little pieces of fuzz on his knees, “And,” he started, voice hesitant, “I must apologize. Remus said he stabbed you—”

“You don’t have to apologize for that!” Dee interrupted, not sure if he was defending Remus or himself, “That’s just what he does!”

Roman raised his hand, silencing Dee, “You didn’t let me finish.” He said calmly, “Remus said he stabbed you, and you didn’t react negatively at all. I—” Roman paused and took a deep breath, still avoiding Dee’s eyes, “I am afraid I have misjudged you.”

Dee opened his mouth to question Roman, but he barreled on, hands clenching the fabric of his pants, “When Remus and I first split,” he said haltingly, “Logan and Patton had no idea what was happening. They only knew that the—the King was spliced into two, and one was bad. We were scared. We had just formed, for goodness’ sake. Remus’s first instinct was to—” Roman gave a little laugh, sounding dangerously close to crying, “was to attack, y’know? _I_ would have too, if he had given me the chance to. We were scared.” His voice quieted, “ _He_ was scared.”

Dee set a hand on Roman’s shoulder in a hopefully comforting gesture, “I know.”

Roman looked up, surprised, and perhaps a bit alarmed, “You do?”

Dee nodded, “Remus told me.”

Roman looked back down, “Well, then. The point I was getting to was that I thought you would have a similar reaction. But you didn’t, and you don’t know how happy that made Remus.” He looked up again, “And for that, I am grateful.”

Dee shifted, uncomfortable with the gratitude once again, “It’s no big deal.”

“No!” Roman turned and grabbed Dee’s hands, squeezing them earnestly, “I assure you, it _is_ a big deal! To be unbothered by his actions—to him that is _monumental._ In a way, it was sort of a test. Remus, after whatever you talked about, wanted to see if you were truly ‘on his side’, so to speak. He was making sure that you would…” he paused, searching for the right word, “that you would _accept_ him. And—” Roman gestured towards Dee, “—you did.”

“Oh—well...that’s good.” Dee hadn’t been aware that it was so important, “And… I forgive you, if that means anything.”

Roman’s eyes darkened with sadness, “I’m afraid my assumptions about you were very un-prince-like. I didn’t act like a prince should’ve.”

“Maybe not at that moment.” Dee agreed, “But you’re very prince-like on the whole. You’re like, pretty important to Thomas’s happiness in general. It looks like the others really look up to you.”

Roman’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “What? Really?”

“Uh, _yeah_.” Dee said, “Honestly, can’t you tell? Like, when you were upset at the breakfast table, no one even had the heart to eat.”

Roman blinked with surprise, “Oh.”

“You didn’t notice?” Dee asked the prince, actually somewhat surprised. Roman usually acted like the world revolves around him.

Roman shook his head, “I, uh...no. I never noticed.”

“You didn’t notice how Patton teared up every time you sniffled?” Dee asked, incredulous, “Or that Virgil didn’t know where to put his hands? Logan couldn’t even concentrate on what he was saying because he was worried about you? Like, he couldn’t form a full sentence without looking to where you sitting.”

Roman’s eyes were shining as he leaned in slightly, “No—I didn’t notice any of that.”

Dee’s heart almost broke as he saw how _starving_ Roman was for this. He’d probably never gotten complemented like this before—never been told how frickin _important_ he was.

Dee continued, kinda-sorta-maybe just to see Roman get happier as he spoke, “Yeah, everyone was _shook_ with you down for the count. Patton didn’t even make lunch. Did you see how _sad_ everything looked before you and Remus ran in there? The color was like, leached out of the room. All their faces literally lit up when you came in! Even Logan and Virgil couldn’t stop smiling when they saw you guys were happy again.” 

As Dee had been talking, Roman looked like the sun had been coming out on a rainy day, a small, disbelieving smile growing on his face. Now, he almost seemed too bright to look at. 

Suddenly, Roman wrapped his arms around Dee in a tight hug. Dee could barely breathe.

“Thank you,” Roman breathed out.

Dee patted the prince’s back, a small smile on his lips, “No problem, Roman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE STAN ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY EVERYONE IN THIS HOUSEHOLD
> 
> Also my tumblr is astronomical-bagel if anyone wants to chat. And don’t forget to comment! Comments help me continue writing!


	12. We All Are Living in a Dream (But Life Ain’t what it Seems)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Using song lyrics for a dramatic chapter? More likely than you would think.

Dee snuggled under his warm covers. That interaction with Roman had been...something. It had been sweet, but Dee also felt rage in the pit of his stomach. Had no one ever told Roman how important he was? He could tell they all adored him, so why couldn’t Roman? _He_ was the one that should know.

But he could understand why they never really talked about it. He didn’t think the others actually knew that they _had_ to tell Roman. The creative side certainly acted like he knew he was all that—but what had just went down told Dee that Roman didn’t. Dee’s heart twisted in pain for the creative side.

Dee had only been alive for like... _five_ days, and he could already see how dysfunctional and broken up this family was. But at the end of the day, they all loved each other. Well, Remus was a bit of the odd one out, but they did love him, just a little differently than the rest. Roman would die for Remus though, and it seemed that’s all that Remus cared about.

Dee could feel exhaustion pressing down on him, even though he had taken a long nap. That headache wasn’t going away, either. It pounded on his temples, and behind his eyes. He probably should have drank more water.

Closing his eyes against the pain, Dee forced himself to relax. It had been an overall stressful day, and the rest would do him good.

As his consciousness faded, Dee’s last thought was about how Remus said he had been forced to live away from the others. Something about that didn’t sit right with him...the story didn’t feel…quite...complete…

— — —

_Dee heard crying._

_Well, Dee normally heard crying, but this time it wasn’t his own._

_He stumbled through the darkness of the subconscious, the ground uneven and treacherous. The landscape was completely black, so it was all he could do to just make his way towards the sound._

_A part of him wondered if it was a trick. The Others could have decided to trap him, and were luring him in. They certainly had the power to lock him away. Maybe they had decided he had too much free reign wandering around in the freezing subconscious, and that he had to be chained to a rock or something._

_But...it could be another side cast out by the Others. Maybe they were friendly. Maybe—maybe they could be Dee’s friend._

_He hadn’t seen another side in so_ long _…_

_Dee couldn’t turn away from contact with another person. Even if it_ was _a trap, he didn’t know how much longer he could stand being alone. How long had it been since Morality and Logic had kicked him out? A month? A year? Longer? There was no way to tell time in this wretched subconscious._

_The crying continued._

_Dee stumbled towards it again, tripping over a bump in the ground. He wanted to call out, but he hesitated. His speech was backwards, it was wrong. He might scare whoever he was supposed to be saving._

_But calling out meant Dee could find the side easier._

_Dee inhaled deeply and choked his hands around his mouth, “Hello?” His voice was high and frightened, and shook from hunger and cold._

_The crying paused, and Dee felt a flash of alarm, “Wait! Stop! I’m_ not _trying to find you!”_

_“What?” The voice returned. It belonged to a boy (_ could _there be girl sides? Dee didn’t know), and it was wet and sniffly, “Who are you?”_

_Dee hesitated. He couldn’t tell this side who he was. The side might get mad at him. He decided to answer a question with a question, “Who are_ you _?”_

_There was no answer._

_“Hello?” Dee called out into the darkness, “Are you still there?” Panic bubbled in his chest. What if he left, somehow? What if the Others were just playing with him? What if—_

_“I’m still here.” The boy called, sounding like he was going to start crying again, “But I don’t—I don’t want to tell you who I am.”_

_Dee lurched down an unexpected slope. It was dangerously smooth, and Dee almost fell on his face, “Why?” He called._

_Another sniffle, “I don—I don’t want you to h-hate m-me-e-e.” His voice deteriorated into sobs again._

_“It’s alright.” Dee tried to comfort, and for once, his backwards speech—his_ lies _—worked perfectly with the situation. Things were definitely_ not _alright. But he could understand not sharing his name._

_The boy’s crying continued as Dee made his way through the subconscious. He sounded a lot closer than he did at the beginning. That gave Dee hope. Each step was closer to a friend._

_Dee called out a few more times, but the answers were monosyllabic, or that didn’t even come at all. Dee, although sympathetic with the other side, was grateful he didn’t stop crying. Dee wouldn’t be able to locate him otherwise._

_Finally, at last, Dee saw him, he could_ see _the warmth he held. So much warmer than Dee.The boy was so_ close _. Twenty, maybe thirty feet away Dee._

_Dee ran the last bit to the boy, tattered and torn clothes flapping with the action. He couldn’t wait to see him. It had been so_ long _since he had seen someone else._

_Dee couldn’t stop his heartbeat from speeding up as he knelt down, hand reaching out to the boy, who, like the other sides, looked about the same age as him. Not that he knew how old he was. Last time he checked, he was seven, but he didn’t_ feel _seven, so perhaps he had been wandering in the subconscious for awhile._

_“Hello, there.” Dee said quietly, “Are you okay?”_

_The boy was curled on the ground, and through his snake eye, Dee could see tears and snot smeared all over his face, a cool blue against the orange and red of the heat of the boy._

_The boy sniffed, “No.” he grumbled lowly._

_Dee reached out his hand, and with hesitance, patted the boy’s head. The warmth of the boy seemed to electrocute Dee, traveling up his arm. It_ burned _, but it felt_ so _good._

_Dee continued to pet the boy’s hair. It was partially to comfort him, and partially so he could feel that warmth again._

_Dee paused, then decided to make an assumption, “Did they kick you out?”_

_The boy sniffed, “Who?”_

_“The Others.” Dee said, “The bright people.”_

_The boy started crying harder, “Yes,” he said, voice shaking and teary._

_“You poor thing.” Dee hugged him, and_ warmth _flooded through his body, “They kicked me out, too.”_

_The boy looked up, “They did?”_

_Dee nodded, the familiar fear and anger returning as his mind flashed back to the memory, “Yes.”_

_Dee shook his head and looked back down at the warm side in his scarred arms, “What do you do?”_

_“Me?” The other side sniffed, “I—I’m bad.”_

_Dee ran his hand through the other’s hair, blinking back tears of—tears of_ something _, “That’s alright.” He said, “So am I.”_

_—_

_Dee reclined in his new armchair, deciding to relax as Thomas celebrated his graduation into the seventh grade. He had been working overtime lately, so it was nice to just rest a bit._

_“Dee! Dee! Dee!” Remus burst into the room, “The Others just kicked another side out!”_

_Dee sat straight up, “What? Which one?”_

_“Anxiety!” Remus twirled around the room, “Another like us!”_

_Anxiety_ ? They kicked _anxiety_ out? _Dee thought incredulously,_ But anxiety _protects_ Thomas.

So do you. _Dee reminded himself._

_“Okay,” Dee said, sitting up and shrugging, unable to keep excitement from his movements, “Let’s_ not _go save Anxiety.”_

_—_

_“Hey, Dee?” Anxiety called, running down the stairs, “Have you seen my blanket?”_

_“Your spider legs_ didn’t _cut it again, remember?” Dee called back, “I’m_ not _fixing it.”_

_Anxiety stopped at the bottom stair and gave Dee a small smile, “Thanks.”_

_“Your problem.” Dee responded, sewing another stitch._

_Remus ran into the room, blood streaming down a cut on his forehead, “Roman banished me from his side of the Imagination!” He pouted, “I only tried to kill him a couple times!”_

_Anxiety scowled at the mention of the prince, “Fuck Roman.”_

_Remus hummed, tilting his head, “Hmmm, I don’t really want to, but you’re welcome to have him!”_

_Anxiety’s eyes widened in indignation as his face went pink, “C’mere you little—”_

_Anxiety leaped at Remus, his spider legs emerging from his back. Remus giggled and sprinted down the hallway, “No fair! I’m a water animal! You don’t get to bring out your legs!”_

_“I can bring out my legs whenever the_ fuck _I want!” Anxiety retorted as he chased Remus down the hallway, his spider legs reaching for the creative side._

_A small smile quirked up in the corner of Dee’s lips. Things were nice here. He never wanted it to change._

_—_

_“Hey, guys?” Anxiety stepped into the living room. Right away, Dee could tell he was nervous. Well, he was always nervous, but his spider legs were out, along with his eyes and fangs. They didn’t all come out at once unless he was really,_ really _nervous. Usually, that only happened when Anxiety was about to have a panic attack._

_Dee sat up in his armchair, “What’s wrong?”_

_Remus looked up from picking his nose, “Do I have to kill my brother again?”_

_Anxiety shook his head, chuckling, “No, no.” He sobered quickly, “I, uh…I just wanted to tell you something.”_

_Dee sat forward, concern bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Did Anxiety do something he didn’t think Dee would approve of? He had once broke something and had a panic attack because he thought that they’d be mad. Didn’t he know already that Dee would literally die for him?_

_Anxiety picked at his sleeves, “M—my—” he stuttered out. The words seemed stuck in his throat._

_“Pretend it’s a bandaid.” Dee suggested._

_“You just gotta_ rip _that baby off!” Remus cackled._

_Anxiety smirked at Remus’s antics, looking slightly more at ease, “Okay,” he said uncertainly, then took a deep breath, all eight eyes squeezing shut and his spider legs twitching, “I,” he said slowly, then swallowed, “I decided that my name is—is_ Virgil!” _He shot out the name quickly, almost stumbling over his words._

Virgil.

_Dee whispered the name under his breath. It fit the emo side. To be fair, almost any names starting with any letters from the end of the alphabet sounded emo to him, but it fit Anxiety in more ways than one. If he remembered correctly, Virgil had been a famous Roman poet. Dee was proud that Anxiety had done his research._

_Dee looked up at An—_ Virgil. _The newly named side was shifting nervously as Dee and Remus were digesting the new information._

_Virgil met Dee’s eyes, and Dee smiled, “I_ don’t _like it. It_ doesn’t _fit you at_ all.”

_Virgil smiled back, relief shining through his features, “Thanks.” He hesitated, “You can call me ‘Virge’, if you want.”_

_“I am thinking of_ several _jokes I could make right now,” Remus announced, “but I don’t think you’d like any of them, so I’m not going to say ‘em.”_

_Virgil chuckled, “I appreciate it.”_

_Dee opened up all six arms to the anxious side, “C’mere, Virge.”_

_Virgil_ appeared _into Dee’s arms. At first, his teleportation was disconcerting, but Dee was pretty used to it now._

_Virgil’s arms and spider legs wrapped around Dee’s snakelike frame. Dee squeezed Virgil back and whispered quietly in his ear, “Thank you for trusting us enough to tell us.”_

_Dee could feel Virgil smile against his shoulder, “Thank you for letting me trust you.”_

_—_

_“Virgil!” Dee called through the black door, “Virgil, please_ don’t _listen to me!”_

_“Fuck off!” The anxious side yelled back, “I don’t want to listen to you!”_

_“Virgil, you_ can _keep on seeing the Lights!” Dee implored, “They don’t trust the likes of us! They’re just tricking you!”_

_Dee stepped back as the doorknob turned and Virgil yanked the door open, “You know, I believed that for a_ long _time, Dee. But even with all their mean jabs and insults, they_ still _somehow manage to_ not _try to kill me.” He spat, “So you’ve either lied to me for the entirety of my life, or they’ve changed. And you know what? I’m_ done _being mean to Thomas.”_

_“Virgil, you don’t know what they_ didn’t _try to do to me!” Dee grabbed Virgil’s hand in a plea, “I_ will _be able to rest knowing that they could be able to do the same thing to you!”_

_“Oh,_ now _you’re willing to tell me your sob story?” Virgil hissed, batting Dee’s hand away, “Or are you just going to_ lie _again?”_

_“Virgil, I swear I_ meant _to mislead you!” Dee couldn’t understand why Virgil wouldn’t just_ listen, _“But they_ are _safe to be around!”_

_“They_ are _!” Virgil’s became alight with sudden anger, and he shoved Dee back, “Don’t you_ dare _say otherwise.”_

_“But they_ are! _” Dee pled, “Please, you_ can _get attached to them!”_

_Virgil grabbed the front of Dee’s shirt, his teeth elongating as his snarled, “Really? Because it sounds like_ you _—” Virgil’s finger rammed into Dee’s chest, “—are attached—” the anxious side jerked his finger towards himself, “—to_ me _!” Virgil released Dee, storming past him, “And I don’t want to be_ friends _with anyone who_ lies _for his own gain.”_

—

_Dee rested his head in his hands as he sat on his bed. He heard his door open._

_“Dee?” Dee looked up to see Remus, whose face was sorrowful._

_“He’s gone?” Dee whispered, his voice cracking._

_Remus nodded quietly, and Dee let out choked sob._

_“I’m sorry.” For once, the truth spilled out of Dee’s lips, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”_

_Dee felt Remus envelop him in a hug, “Shhh.” He comforted, “It’s okay. It's not your fault.”_

_Dee clutched Remus, his hands grasping the fabric of his shirt, “I’m sorry.” He repeated, “I—I’m—” his voice broke as he choked out another sob._

_Remus’s hand ran through his hair, and Dee could feel his tears soaking into his shirt, “It’s okay.” The creative side said once more, “It’s okay, Dee. It’s not your fault.”_

_Remus wasn’t known to lie, but Dee couldn’t bring himself to believe him._

_Once again, it was them against the world._

_—_

_Dee was lying on a rock on his side of the Imagination. It wasn’t as big (well, the territories could expand, but that's besides the point) or as powerful as the two Creatives’, but it served its purpose, and provided a nice place to relax when he couldn’t handle Remus any more._

_It was warm where he was, the sunlight beat down on him, and he stretched happily, his arms and legs were bare for once, his tank top and shorts exposing his scales. He usually didn’t like showing them to anyone (although he couldn’t avoid people seeing the ones on his face), and even though he was pretty close to Roman’s territory, Dee supposed he was pretty safe._

_-_

_Well, turns out he_ wasn’t.

-

_“Go back to where you came from, Doctor Doofen_ snake, _or I’ll make you!” Roman snarled, sword extended._

_-_

_“What’s happening?” Remus popped up, covered in blood splatters and holding his morning star._

_-_

Why, _Dee thought, pinching the bridge of his nose with gloved fingers,_ did Remus decide to show up _now,_ of all times?

-

“ _I’m_ not _out of here.” Dee announced, “I_ wasn’t _just trying to_ relax _or anything.” He stormed away, not caring where he was going, as long as it was quiet._

_-_

Not today _, Satan._

_-_

_“Wait, Dee!”_

_-_

_“I can’t hear you!” Dee chorused behind himself._

_-_

_“It’s not safe!” Their cries were fading. Pffft. They were slow._

_-_

_An invisible force seemed to block Dee’s path._

_-_

_Oh_ shit. 

_-_

_A large, reptilian eye peered down at Dee as the Dragon Witch’s scales shiftedto their regular orange._

_-_

_“Well, look what I caught,” an inhuman voice purred, “a little snake.”_

_-_

_Dee inhaled a sharp breath as he felt something inside his chest crack sickeningly._

_-_

_He felt a little dizzy._

_-_

_Dee didn’t want to die.  
_

_-_

_He was falling._

_-_

_He could hear them, as he was lying on the ground, blood spilling from his mouth._

_-_

_Their voices echoed, bouncing around in his head._

_-_

“ _Deceit!”_

— — —

Deceit woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEEEEEE GUYS WE’RE FINALLY HERE COME PARTY W/ ME(or yell @ me, doesn’t rly matter) AT ASTRONOMICAL-BAGEL ON TUMBLR (no caps btw)
> 
> WHOOOOOO DONT FORGET TO COMMENT 
> 
> ASDFGAIWIDBDKSODH WE FINALLY MADE IT IM SO HAPPY


	13. Everything’s a Mess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up, this chapter sucks *fingerguns* eyyy decline of quality and all that

The first thing Deceit thought after he woke up was something along the lines of, _Shit_.

The second thing was, _I’m alive._

His third was, _I’m so_ not _fucked._

Dee’s—no, _Deceit’s_ —no, _Dee’s_ — _His_ hands were shaking as he ran his fingers through his hair.

_Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shiiiiit._

But, first things first. Deceit felt the familiar burning in his stomach, and stumbled to the bathroom, and threw up in the toilet as soon as he got to it, clutching the sides of the bowl as he heaved.

Deceit—because he _was_ Deceit, wasn’t he? Wiped his mouth as he finished, and flushed the toilet with a grimace. Throwing up was not fun. It was unfortunate that Deceit just so happened to be able to get the VIP treatment. That is to say, this happened a _lot_.

Well, not the whole _dying_ thing, and having a _literal identity theft_ after somehow waking back up because your enemies didn’t want you to turn out how you did before, but he did throw up quite a lot, especially after a nightmare.

Like, how is one supposed to _react_ in this situation? Just, _Hi, hello, I’m Deceit and I died but then I came back in a weird reincarnation with no memories but now I remember everything?_

Honestly ( _ha)_ , he could hardly articulate anything more than _shit._

They had — they had _lied_ to him. _They_ had lied to _him._

_They_ , the ones who—who _fucking_ _threw him into the fucking Subconscious for lying, lied_ , to _him_ , the literal _function_ of lies, about him _being_ lies _._

Deceit almost wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or… he didn’t even _know_. He might be in shock. He was probably in shock.

_I… I_ died. _I fucking_ died. _And they weren’t going to tell me. Those_ motherfuckers _didn’t tell me. I fucking died and they wanted to_ erase _me. They fucking pretended I was a new side. They wanted me to—they must have been_ glad _to see me gone._

And no, that wasn’t a pang of sadness that ran through him. That was...anger. He was _angry._ He didn’t feel _betrayed!_ Not at all! That was _preposterous!_ He didn’t...he didn’t expect the Light Sides to be any different, right? They were mortal enemies. So it made perfect sense for them to ( ~~stab him in the _back_~~ ) try to act as if he were a Light. That’s in their best interests! Of _course_ they’d try to conform him to their restrictive social norms! They were the Light Sides! They were... they were...

They _had_ been his friends.

Well, not anymore. They hadn’t been friends — they hadn’t been _family—_ in over twenty years. Guess they hated him so much that they didn’t even miss him. _Figures._

_Really, what do you expect from the_ Light Sides?

He actually had no idea he hadn’t even _guessed_ who he was before—yellow was the color of _deceit_ (and cowardice, but hey, tell him something he _didn’t_ know), and you didn’t have to think very long to figure out what snakes tended to represent.

So—he supposed there had been a part of him, a small part that knew who he was.

He just hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself.

“Okay.” Dee—Deceit— _arrgh_ —said into the dark room, “ _O-_ kay. Well… _shit.”_

Was he going to have to tell the others? Just, “Hey, I know I’m Deceit now! Fuck you! What’s for breakfast?”

Well, it wasn’t like he had _died_ — wait no, yes he _did_ die. And he came back. With amnesia. And _no one had tried to help him._

But _why?_

Well...it was obvious for the light sides (those _fuckers)._ They _hated_ him, but why did Remus…

Oh god, _Remus._

Dee’s hands each grabbed fistfuls of hair as he growled in frustration. He had _snuggled_ which that idiot! He had gotten all _cuddly_ and _soft_ and _buddy-buddy_ and _ugh_ his reputation was _ruined!_ What happened to his perfectly dark aesthetic?

Deceit groaned and flopped back into his bed. Everything had just gotten _so_ much more complicated and he was too tired for this _shit_.

_They didn’t tell me who I was because they didn’t_ want _me._ Dee thought as he buried his face in his pillow, 

That _didn’t_ hurt him. It _didn’t._ The idea was preposterous. Why would it hurt him? He had never wished to be wanted— _needed_ —by the other sides. He was fine. He had been _fine_ . So _what_ if he was cast out as a young child into a barren desert and was so traumatized that he still has nightmares about it? It was _fine._ He was _fine_.

(Yeah, _right._ )

_They’re going to throw me back into the Subconscious._

Deceit felt his chest tighten with fear. No. _No._ He _couldn’t_ let them know he remembered. He _couldn’t._ They had kept his identity from him for a _reason._ They… they’d put him back _there._ And he couldn’t go back. He _couldn’t._ Not now, not _ever._

“But how can I hide it?” Dee murmured aloud, “It’s _not_ like I speak in lies or anything.”

That wasn’t necessarily true. The rest of the sides had been lying so much about his _entire existence_ , though, that Deceit could hypothetically go quite some time without reverting back to his lie-speech again.

“I’m _not_ really doing this, am I?” Deceit asked the darkness of his room, then he sighed at himself, “I’m really doing this.”

Suddenly, Dee felt a wave of...of—he didn’t even _know_ what emotion. Grief? Remorse? Just an all-around, general sadness? 

( _No,_ he _wasn’t_ going to cry)

(Okay, well, the situation called for a little crying. Who are you to judge him?)

(Fuck masculinity stereotypes. He could _damn_ well cry if he wanted to.)

Deceit grabbed a pillow to his side and slammed it over his face. Why did everything suddenly just have to be _ruined_? He was _fine_ before he died. Exasperated by the Lights and maybe a _tad_ bit lonely since Virgil left, and at his wit’s end at Remus’s increasing annoying-ness, but on the whole he had been _fine._

Deceit frowned and tugged at his hair.

_I miss my hat._

— — —

Deceit woke up ( _again_ ). (Yeah, disappointing. Believe him, he _knew.)_

Patton was knocking at the door, “Wake up, kiddo! It’s a new day!”

Deceit groaned, rubbing his face as he sat up, _Is it just me, or did he get even_ more _cheesy since the last couple of days?_

“I’m _not_ up.” Deceit called to Patton. As always, the lie slipped out effortlessly.

Deceit heard Patton make a noise of confusion at the door, “What?”

Deceit felt his heart leap into his throat, and he struggled not to let his voice tremble, “I—I _am_ up.” He corrected himself. _Dammit._ He _couldn’t_ make that mistake again.

He gathered himself off his bed and reached for his hat, faltering when he remembered he didn’t have one as Dee. Perhaps he could make do with a beanie or something later.

So, feeling unprotected and vulnerable without his hat, and quite cold, he made his way down the hallway leading to the kitchen. He yawned. He really had to stop his new habit of waking up in the middle of the night. He hadn’t gotten a full night’s rest since he reformed.

(Yes, Deceit was ignoring the fact that whenever he had fallen asleep on Remus it had been quite comfortable and surprisingly peaceful.)

(He’s just really warm okay? Like, the warmest in the mindscape.)

(Do ya wanna go, Lynda? Because I will fucking _go_. Stop talking shit, or I’ll _make_ you.)

Deceit sat down at the table, accepting the plate of pancakes proffered to him. Roman and Remus both smiled brightly at him. Dee was confused for a second, until he remembered that whole Creativitwins’ argument fiasco thing, when he helped settle and all that. That felt like for _ever_ ago. Arrgh. How had he been so _cheesy?_ He had acted like some _Light Side!_

Breakfast continued as it had for the last couple of days (not counting yesterday). There was chitchat, some teasing, Remus got up in his face again, which really did seem like he was going to keep on doing (ugh), Virgil complained about social outings, the normal. But through it all Deceit was inwardly shaking, overanalyzing, and making sure he didn’t give anything away. Sure, he was the side of lies, but that didn’t mean that hiding his _entire identity_ wasn’t a daunting task. Not to mention the result if he couldn’t keep it up. 

The rest of the sides would _undoubtedly_ think he was taking advantage of them the whole time, and then Roman would draw his sword and Virgil would do his spider thing and Logan would get that cold look in his eyes and Patton’s hands would be clenched in anger… and Remus would have that disappointed look in his eye—you know the one...just _that_ look. His arms would be all tentacle-ified, and his face would get all splotchy the way it does when he’s about to cry…

And also they would banish him to the subconscious and he would either slowly go insane or lose all will to live at the hands of the cold and treacherous plains. Or both. He could always do both.

So yeah, he most definitely _was_ going to get caught.

_Simple._

So Deceit forced a smile as the group laughed (or groaned) at some pun Patton had cracked. Right now, he had to be Dee. As far as the others knew, nothing had changed. And so, he had to act exactly the same as he had the last couple of days. 

_I_ really _miss my hat._

— — —

Nothing _really_ of importance happened that day. For someone with no memories, sure, but for Deceit it was mostly just everyday stuff, like losing at Mario Kart and kicking everyone’s asses at Smash Bros.

“See? I told you I’d make a comeback!” Dee shouted as he pushed Roman’s character, Link (which he chose _every_ time) off the edge of the battlefield, killing him for good.

“At least _I_ wasn’t lapped by half of the players!” Roman shot back.

“I was caught by three bombs and a personal lightning storm!” Deceit protested, “And that was only one time.”

“And what about Rainbow Road?” Virgil reminded as he spammed the _A_ button.

“That was your fault for choosing Rainbow Road! _No one_ did well in that one!”

“ _I’m_ still upset that we didn’t play Waluigi Stadium!” Remus pouted.

“Remus, you’re the _only_ one who likes that.” Roman told his brother.

“Because I’m _good_ at it! You all eat my _dust_ in that race!” Remus boasted.

Deceit couldn’t argue with Remus’s skill in that particular race. He had played Waluigi Stadium all day, almost every day, for about three months last year until he _finally_ got bored of it.

Deceit was pulled from his reminiscing as Virgil sliced at him with Dark Pit’s sword, and he promptly killed him with the magnificence of Kirby.

“Ha!” Dee crowed as he was declared the winner, “Take that!”

Roman and Remus both grumbled as they, the two with the lowest scores, passed their remotes to Logan and Patton. 

“I call Roselina!” Patton called.

“Urgh.” Virgil made a noise of distaste, “You can have her.”

“ _I_ watched videos on all her best moves!” Patton said brightly, “I’m going to crush you all!”

Deceit couldn’t stop a shiver as the bright and cheery Patton threatened them all with a smile. Wasn’t he supposed to be against violence?

Logan chose the Wii Fit Trainer, and Virgil chose Dark Pit again. Deceit was going to choose Kirby again, but Virgil complained about how OP he was, so Dee chose Bowser. He could beat them as _any_ character.

And so the _real_ fight began. 

Virgil had already shown himself a formidable enemy, and Logan was a _beast_ as the Wii Fit Trainer. Patton, though, was on a whole new level. Who knew that Rosalina was so brutal.

Virgil groaned in frustration as he was the first to lose a life, “Dammit, Logan! I _swear_ I’ll get you for that!”

“Unlikely.” Logan replied, adjusting his glasses and grinning.

Meanwhile, Deceit was growling under his breath as he and Patton dueled furiously. The paternal side had probably only chosen Rosalina in every game and perfected his technique with her. Deceit had never played against him, seeing as thinks hadn’t been very friendly between the Darks and Lights. It was hard to say who was getting the most hits in, but Dee hadn’t lost many battles yet (well, his only opponents were Virgil and Remus, and Remus sucked at this game anyways), and he certainly wasn’t aiming to now.

Quickly, Deceit made Bowser leap over Logan and attacked Virgil, hoping that since Logan was acting as a meat shield between Dee and Patton, Patton would go after him instead. Deceit’s plan was to kill Virgil, who was already weakened, and Patton would kill Logan, while being weakened by him, so Dee could kill him with ease. If he was lucky, killing Virgil would take a small amount of time, and then he and Logan could kill Patton, and Deceit would promptly kill Logan, who he was sure he could take.

Elation sparked in Dee’s chest as he pushed Virgil off the edge for the second time, killing him for good. He turned his attention to Logan and Patton. Patton had pushed Logan off the edge once, and Logan had gotten a few good jabs at Patton, killing him once as well. Statistically, if things kept going at this rate, Dee would win, as he had lost some health points, but no lives.

Patton made Rosalina shoot her Luma at Logan, killing him for good. Dee bit his lip in concentration. _Damn._ He had been hoping Logan would have taken more HP from Patton.

Logan groaned, and Virgil patted him on the back, “Hey, at least you did better than me.”

“Yeaaahhh! Go Dee!” Remus cheered, pumping his fist.

“The final showdown!” Roman said in his announcer’s voice.

“Go Pat, I guess.” Virgil said, then gave a halfhearted, “Woohoo.”

Patton giggled, “Thanks, kiddo!”

Bowser shot at Rosalina, grabbing her and pulling her into a flying slam. Rosalina quickly got up and shot a couple star bits at him, which he dodged with difficulty, jumping onto a higher platform.

“Go Dee!” Roman rooted, “Kill ‘em!”

Virgil booed, “No, he killed me! Go Patton! Push him off the edge!”

“I will cheer for Patton as well, as he was the one who bested me, fairly” Logan adjusted his glasses, then a shot a dirty look at Deceit, “instead as using me as a _shield_.”

Deceit raised his hands as best he could while still playing the game, “Hey, ya gotta go what ya gotta do!” He said defensively, “I needed you to weaken him, or else I had no chance! You can appreciate a good strategy, can’t you?”

“Yes, that was a good strategy,” Logan acknowledged, “but that doesn’t mean I have to like being a part of it.”

“Fair enough.” Dee responded, then made a _yikes_ face as Patton succeeded in hitting him with his Luna, killing Dee for the first time, “Dammit!”

As soon as Bowser respawned, Deceit just spammed _A_ at Patton. He preferred strategy, but the timer for seven minutes was almost up, and he wanted to actually _kill_ Patton instead of winning on a technicality.

Bowser jumped back when Rosalina died again, leaving Patton at one life. The twins cheered Dee on, and Virgil and Logan did what they could (with their less-than-energetic personalities) to hype Patton up.

“Come on, Patton! All you gotta do it kill him once, and then you’re tied again!” Virgil urged, “You got this!”

“Go Dee!” Remus shouted.

“Yeah! Kill that star-friended fiend!” Roman supported, “Even if Bowser’s the antagonist!”

Dee unconsciously stuck his tongue out as he fought Patton, straining to make his thumbs click faster. He knew that Rosalina was basically useless without her Luna, so he targeted that. A terrified _peep_ escaped Patton’s mouth as Deceit killed Rosalina’s starry friend.

“He’s dead, for sure.” Roman commented.

“Not if I do _this!_ ” Patton made Rosalina leap into the air, and she more or less flew around, using evasive maneuvers to escape Bowser.

Dee made Bowser follow Rosalina, but time was running out, and he rushed. Dee let out a cry as he fell off the edge.

“Shoot!” Remus leaned forward, “Ya gotta be careful, Dee! One more and you’re dead for keepsies!”

“ _Keepsies_?” Virgil echoed, “What?”

“I’m _trying._ ” Dee hissed over the purple-clad side, “It’s kind of hard, though, when I can’t _fly.”_

Logan butted in, “It’s actually closer to enhanced jumping, rather than flight.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Dee said off-handedly, “It’s like you say, tomato, solano—solano ly...solano lica...How do you say it again?”

Logan adjusted his glasses, “I believe you are trying to say ‘solanum lycopersicum’?”

Deceit nodded, “Yeah, that was it.”

Roman leaned back in his seat, “When’d that come up in conversation, again?”

Alarm jolted through Deceit as he realized that it _hadn’t_ ever come up in a conversation. Not when he was _Dee_ , anyways. He quickly formulated a lie, “I’m not sure. Maybe a couple nights ago during dinner, or while we were watching a show?”

Logan furrowed his eyebrows, “I don’t remember saying it…” he frowned in confusion, “but I must have, considering you know I say it…”

Deceit’s eyes widened in panic. Logan was the type who could remember whatever you said to them, even if he was drunk in a room full of jukeboxes playing “What’s New Pussycat”. There was _no_ way he was going to be able to bluff his way through this. 

But he _couldn’t_ let them get suspicious. Any steps down _that_ path, and they’d find out who he was and then he’d get shunned into the subconscious again, and this time with no friend to help him find the way out again.

With his eyes still on the TV, he quickly gave his foot a small stamp. Something looking close to a heatwave rippled along the floor, and all of the sides paused for a heartbeat. 

It was a dispersion of Deceit’s power. A small one, just enough to get them to believe the little lie Dee had told. It left the rest of the sides disoriented for a heartbeat, and he knew some of them, like Virgil and Logan, were good at sensing dispersions of his power, but he hoped that since this one was so small, they would hardly notice.

There was a tiny pause in all the conversations as the lie took hold. Dee’s heart hammered, the pumping of his blood loudly in his ears. After a terrifying, heart-stopping moment of silence, the conversations continued with barely a hitch.

“I think you said it on the first night or something.” Roman told Logan, who nodded.

“Yes, I believe so too, possibly during the first movie?” Logan suggested.

Roman snorted, “If you can call that documentary a movie.”

Dee ignored Logan’s offended reply and attacked Patton once more. His opponent was at half health, and there was something like thirty seconds left. He could do this.

Nevermind that his hands were shaking from that little incident.

Bowser swiped at Rosalina again, injuring her Luna. Patton made a noise of anger and shot start bits at Dee. Dee ignored them and quickly pulled Rosalina into a flying slam, picking her up and basically sitting on her as she fell. She was almost dead. Bowser pummeled her with a barrage of attacks, not giving Rosalina any time to dodge. 

There were ten seconds left. Patton made a frustrated noise as his Luna died again. _Seven seconds._ Patton probably only needed a couple more hits until he died. Rosalin lept away in an attempt to trick Bowser into jumping off the edge again, Dee wasn’t going to die the same way twice, though. He stayed carefully on the platform. _Six seconds._ Rosalina had to come down sometime. Bowser was waiting for her as she floated down. _Five seconds._ Patton wailed was he saw the inevitable coming. _Four seconds._ Bowser pulled Rosalina into yet another flying slam— _three seconds—_ and _smashed_ her into the ground.

“No!” Patton wailed as Dee was declared the winner, “I was _so_ close!”

“Good job, Dee!” Remus slammed into him, “Someone was finally able to beat Patton!”

“Hey,” Virgil complained, “I beat him a couple weeks ago.”

“And I beat him a week before that.” Logan said. “Doesn’t mean that Dee winning in his first game against him isn’t impressive.”

“I have to say, that was really dramatic,” Roman commented, “You had me at the edge of my seat.”

“Well, good job, Dee!” Patton congratulated brightly, having seemingly forgotten about his lamenting his own loss, “We were really neck and neck there for a couple of minutes, weren’t we?”

“Yes.” Deceit agreed, “You were pretty tough.” He leaned back on the couch, puffing his cheeks out as he exhaled, “That was pretty intense. I’m kinda tired now.”

Truth was, he wasn’t tired because of the match, but rather the trick he had pulled with the dispersion of energy. Well, it wasn’t like he had a gauge somewhere filled with energy and power, it was more like he got really tired if he used it. Since this one was small, he just wanted a nap.

“Well _I’m_ hungry.” Roman complained, flopping down to lay on the seat of the couch and bemoaned dramatically, “At this rate, I fear I shall perish from starvation.”

“Now, now, kiddo,” Patton reached over and patted Roman’s shoulder, “I can make some dinner.”

“It’s four.” Virgil pointed out, “It’s too early for dinner.”

“Well, we could have... _linner_ then!” Patton declared, “Lunch and dinner combo!”

“I prefer the term _dunch!”_ Remus chirped.

Roman shrugged his nose from where he lay, “That just sounds gross.”

“ _Exactly_!” Remus said at a _much_ too high volume, “Sounds _nasty_!”

“You’re not wrong.” Dee said, standing up after catching his breath, “So...what’s for linner, then?”

“Pasta!” Patton cheered, “With cheese!”

Remus twirled around the living room, “And don’t forget the pesto!”

“When would I _ever_?” Asked Patton jokingly as he skipped to the kitchen.

Deceit sighed, glad that the attention was off him. How long was he planning to keep this up? If it was so hard to last for even a day, how could he expect to keep this charade up _indefinitely?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t include nearly enough angst, sorry.
> 
> (Note: I don’t actually /have/ Super Smash Bros, so I might be off. Idk.)
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading! My tumblr is astronomical-bagel!


	14. In Which One Questions Another’s Authenticity, and is Fearful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost forgot to post today lol

Dinner was buzzing, full of jokes and laughter and teasing, but Deceit was beyond terrified of slipping up. He had always had a habit of teasing, specifically targeting the Creativies. What if he accidentally started teasing them out of habit? The others would  _ know _ he remembered. So he ate the pasta silently, ignoring the squirming in his stomach.

“Hey, Dee,” Remus turned his attention off of rubbing his brother and turned towards Deceit, “you’re quiet today.”

Deceit gestured to his mouth, signaling he needed a second to chew, “I’m eating.” He said as he swallowed, “you can’t expect me to pause from eating this delicious food.”

“Oh, Dee!” Patton said, giggling, “You flatter me!”

Deceit allowed himself a small smile as the conversation derailed off to embarrassing Patton with compliments. This was... nice. To be surrounded by an actually welcoming family, who genuinely cared for him. To be able to join in on the teasing if he wanted, without being immediately vilified. It was nice to at least be able to  _ pretend  _ to relax.

But he couldn’t relax. One slip-up and all of this would be lost.

Okay, so maybe Deceit was being a little dramatic, but so what? Maybe the Creativitwins were rubbing off on him. And he kept on remembering that _hell_ of a place, the subconscious, and he was _really fucking terrified_ of it, okay? He had been, what, _eight_ when they trapped him in there? _seven?_ He didn’t even know how long he had been trapped. _Months_. Maybe even a _year_. How had he even survived? If he was trapped in that miasma again, he knew he wouldn’t last over an hour. He’d die of pure fear. Or not. He’d just _wish_ he could, by then.

But Deceit couldn’t let that happen to Thomas. He may have tried to trick him— _multiple_ times— and he and Patton had different views on what he should focus on...but the whole purpose of his existence was to protect Thomas. Dying, for real, would just erase the function of lying from Thomas’s mind. He couldn’t let that happen. Lying kept Thomas  _ safe _ . Deceit  _ had _ to keep Thomas safe _. _

Which was Virgil’s goal, too. It didn’t seem fair that the Lights had accepted  _ him _ but not Deceit _. _ And just because Patton didn’t agree with Dee on a couple things! You know who argued all the time? Roman and Logan!  _ They _ didn’t banish each other into the subconscious! Even when Roman declared Virgil a Villain™️, he’d  _ never  _ resort to such tactics.

Ugh...Morality had such a strong effect on Thomas. Patton had so much  _ power _ , so much  _ warmth _ . He could likely banish the rest of the sides into the subconscious and just rule Thomas alone with all the power. Thomas put so much faith in Patton...emotions and morals were put into question with every decision Thomas made.

That really  _ didn’t  _ make Deceit’s stomach roil with anger.

“Hey, Dee?” A voice asked to his left.

Deceit looked up, and all (well,  _ almost  _ all) his anger dissipated like mist in the wake of the pure, shining concern on Patton’s face. He  _ couldn’t _ stay angry with him, with his eyes so earnest and expression so open. When had he last been faced with so much  _ care _ for his well-being?

(God, was he turning soft? What happened to his dark and loner aesthetic? He was a villain, for goodness’ sake!)

“You good, there?” Patton asked.

Deceit looked down at his hands and realized that he was clutching at the tablecloth. He quickly let go, smiling sheepishly at Patton, giving a small (and very fake) laugh, “Oops...I guess I got lost in my thoughts for a second. I’m fine.”

“If you say so,” Patton didn’t sound convinced. 

(And honestly, who _would_ be convinced? Well, maybe the Creativies. They weren’t the brightest stars in the system)

(No offense)

(Wait, when had he started saying  _ that? _ Full offense. Yarrgh. Anger noises. Hiss  _ hiss _ , motherfucker. He hated everyone and everything)

Deceit rested his face on his hand as the conversation hesitantly continued without him. He tuned in and out of the chatter, letting his mind drift. There was a sort of cycle to his thoughts. Worry, remorse, anger, then worry again. Wash, rinse, repeat. Damn, he was tired. At this rate, he was going to turn into Virgil.

One upside to this whole mess. Deceit got to be friends again with the little angst ball of emo-ness. Of course, their relationship was totally different. No more dead-inside joking like they used to. They wouldn’t be able to have animal showdowns anymore, either. Even if they did, it wouldn’t be the same. Deceit basically had to start at square one again. Wait, not even that...more like square negative ten. 

Perhaps there was no upside, then. Arrgh.

Speaking of the spiderlike side, Deceit wondered how the whole ‘scales’ thing had gone down with him. He could imagine how hard it could be to have to look at him. Having to see the side that he most hated again?  _ God,  _ Virgil had had a  _ panic attack _ over having to see his  ~~ awful ~~ face again. Deceit had been unconscious for literally  _ nine _ hours, so anything could have happened. Had Virgil immediately tried to attack him? He  _ had  _ gone almost fully spider, something he only did when he perceived an actual threat. It wouldn’t be a stretch at all.

How had the rest reacted? Deceit was surprised Roman hadn’t joined Virgil in attacking him. He and Roman had sort of been on good terms...well, better terms than he had been with the rest of the light sides, but Roman was still pretty hot-headed. Deceit imagined Logan would have held anyone back if they  _ did  _ try to attack him, though. Remus probably yelled a lot, maybe tried to pull off some of his scales, perhaps licked them a couple times. He had always compared them to bug eyes before, and was fascinated with them, but Deceit didn’t make it a habit to let the side get within a three foot radius.

(Okay, not exactly true, but whatever.)

What did Patton do in response to his whole transformation thing? Patton had always been a wild card for Deceit. He could have been defensive, but there was an equal chance that he had cried. He was probably the one who set him on the couch. The moral side was very,  _ very _ unpredictable.

_ Ugh, emotions _ . Deceit thought as his hands twitched, almost automatically reaching up for a second to adjust his hat,  _ Almost as bad as the social stigmas of society. _

At least Deceit didn’t try to pretend he didn’t have emotions like Logan. He didn’t know why the logical side insisted he was something akin to a robot. He  _ obviously _ had emotions, so why did he try so hard to hide it?

_ Urgh.  _ Deceit thought,  _ I’m tired of questions. _

“I’m heading to my room,” Virgil said beside Deceit, bringing him to the present. The anxious side stood up and took his bowl to the sink, then trudged up the stairs with a wave goodnight.

“I’m out, too.” Deceit said, standing up as well and dumping his bowl in the sink. He wanted to fix up his room a bit before he went to bed.

As soon as he opened his door (honestly, that doorknob was pretty awesome. That was probably the _one_ thing here that fit his aesthetic), Deceit flinched at how utterly _pastel_ his room was. Roman had really gone all out, hadn’t he?

Deceit grumbled under his breath as he surveyed his too-cheery room. Why did Roman have to be on Pinterest all the time? Now his room looked like a PTA mom’s bathroom. Why didn’t Remus stop this travesty from taking place?

Closing the door behind him with a  _ click _ , Deceit sighed. He had some serious revamping to do. With a wave of his hand, every color went about two shades darker, and everything that was white changed to a much more palatable black. 

Now that he could look at his room without squinting, Dee put his energy into the smaller details. A pang went through his chest as he realized that he wouldn’t be able to have his old room again. Remus or Virgil would recognize it. And he couldn’t cater exactly to his tastes, either. Roman would question if he renovated too much.

Swallowing his sudden  ~~ homesickness ~~ nausea over the cheeriness of the room, Deceit went to inspect the bookshelf that Roman had made. The creative side had said he could decorate the edges with engravings if he wanted, but Deceit had never gotten around to it.

Deceit stared at the empty shelves. He missed his old books. He remembered when he got his first one. It was on the old Greek philosophers. He had eagerly taken notes, pouring everything he had into them so he could try to make a point against the Light sides. He had been...what, nineteen? He had tried so hard to prove to the Lights that lying could  _ help _ , that, if utilized correctly, could  _ benefit _ Thomas. But all he got was some scolding and a threat from Roman.

But the memories tied to his first book weren't all bad. He remembered when he was practicing his debates on Remus and Virgil. That had been fun. They had joked and laughed and Deceit could imagine that they were an actual family for once. He remembered when Remus, wanting to cheer him up after he failed at convincing the Lights, took the liberty of writing down lists of ways he could kill them in the margins of the book, accompanied by little graphic doodles. It had been a little aggravating, sure, but the gesture had been a kind one, and it gave Deceit a little warm feeling in his chest. 

Deceit’s fingers curled into fists as he wrenched himself from his memories. He wasn’t going to go down  _ that _ road. He was redecorating, not getting all misty-eyed at some old memories. What was he, some Light Side?

Well, the Light Sides  thought _he_ thought he was a Light Side, but that was besides the point.  _ He _ still thought of himself as a Dark Side, or an Other, or  _ whatever  _ they were calling it nowadays. 

But...who else was still a Dark Side? Virgil had left, and that had made it just Remus and Deceit...but Deceit wasn’t even sure if Remus still was a Dark Side. Something had definitely happened while he had been dead. It’s not like there could only be  _ one _ dark side...could there? Deceit had literally  _ died,  _ leaving Remus alone. The Light Side must have let him hang around them out of pity.

Deceit gave up on trying to decide a pattern on his bookshelf and sat heavily on his bed, suddenly feeling very alone.

— — —

Dreams that night were  _ terrible. _

Strips of memory flitted through his brain, like butterflies in a breeze, or wasps. It could be wasps. It was most definitely wasps.

_ He remembered the cold landscape of the subconscious. The joy of the first Christmas that he and Remus had had together. Virgil’s tear-streaked face as he screamed at Deceit. The warm comfort of the sun on Deceit’s back. _

_ The much-too-warm heat of the Dragon Witch’s breath as she held him up, like Scar did to that poor mouse.  _

_ The intense pressure of her talons against his ribcage, a macabre parody of a smile on her maw. _

_ The wind that rushed around him as she dropped him. _

_ Falling down. _

_ Down. _

  
  


_ Down. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Someone was  _ screaming .

  
  


— — —

Deceit woke up with a gasp. His heart pounded against his chest. A bead of trickled down the side of his face. 

_ Damn. _

Okay. So  _ that _ had been a nightmare. Obviously _. _

He should have expected it, really. He  _ had _ died a horrible and traumatic death. 

Deceit could feel the shaking of his hands as he brought them up to rub his face, sitting up as he did so. If he had his that at the moment, he would have been turning it nervously in his hands. He realized that he was panting, breathing as if he had just ran for a long time, running from... _ something _ . Society, probably, and the terrifying reality that was his past.

Deceit slid his legs off the side of the bed, and he padded over to the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his hot face. If a few tears slipped out, that was nobody’s business. But of course they didn’t. That was just the water from the sink. That’s all it was. Just water.

Deceit lowered his hands and gripped the sink, glaring vehemently at his reflection in the mirror. The faint glow from his alarm clock, reading three forty-three, illuminated his room. The light reflected off those  _ cursed _ scales that were littered across his face like a shiny, metallic scar.

Deceit took a deep, steadying breath,  _ C’mon, Deceit. _ He told himself,  _ You’re  _ fine.

(He most definitely was  _ not _ )

Deceit’s hands trailed off of the counter as he turned away from the sink and returned to his bed, laying down not to sleep (God knows he wouldn’t be able to), but to just...think. What else could he do in the dark of his room?

— — —

Virgil was awake. He usually was at this time. What time was it? Well...he actually wasn’t sure. He just never went to sleep.

Virgil checked the top of his phone. It was three thirty-six. Logan better have the coffee out by the time he came down the stairs in the morning.

Virgil mentally shrugged.  _ Fuck it. _ If he was going to be tired when he woke up, he just wouldn’t go to sleep. Simple. The rest of the sides might disagree with his logic, but he had recently run out of fucks to give, so you might wanna leave a message and come back when he restocked. (Hint: he wasn’t gonna restock. Ever.)

Speaking of his counterparts…

Virgil closed his eyes and did a rundown of the mindscape for what felt like the hundredth time that night. Being Anxiety, Virgil could sense every negative thought that someone had. He couldn’t tell what they were, but he could at least  _ feel _ them. Sometimes, he could even taste them. He could halfway see them as well, although it was more imagination than actual sight. 

Virgil mentally checked Patton first. The paternal side had a  _ lot _ of emotions in him, and he was the most likely, besides Virgil himself, to have a nightmare. But Patton was fine, save for the cloud of grief and guilt and many other  _ fun  _ emotions like that that covered  everyone  in the mindscape like smog in New York. But he couldn’t help with that. The most he could do is help with any particularly horrible nightmares

Virgil checked the twins next. Roman was okay (well, as okay as they  _ could  _ be). Remus...well, Remus was less okay. Virgil felt a familiar, hollow sadness in his chest as he mentally examined the tangle of angst and nightmares that was Remus. He could help...he  _ would’ve  _ helped, if he didn’t think that Remus would full-out attack him. Remus had made it pretty clear that he didn’t want to see Virgil. Guess not even grief will heal old grievances.

Virgil ignored the flash of guilt that coursed through him like electricity.

He closed his eyes and focused on Logan. He wasn’t having any nightmares at the moment, which didn’t surprise Virgil. He wasn’t even sure if Logan  _ had _ dreams.

With an almost apprehensive feeling, Virgil checked up on Decei— _ Dee _ . He was  _ Dee _ , not Deceit. He felt a piercing sharp pain in his chest at the mental slip-up. He really was never going to recover, was he?

Virgil’s eyes flashed open when he sensed that Dee was having a nightmare. A particularly bad one, at that. What could he be having a nightmare about? He had only been in existence for about a week or so.

Virgil shot out of his bed, stumbling in his haste. Alarm spiking through him.  


He knew, in his head, that Dee wasn’t in any actual danger, but he couldn’t quite convince himself to believe it. He was already protective of all the sides, that came with being Anxiety, the designated protector of everyone. But...he couldn’t help being a little bit more protective of Dee. Everyone was. After—after the incident...how could they not be? It was obvious everyone saw Dee as Deceit. He was uncannily like him, in all his interests and  _ god, _ he even looked like him, with his scales…

Virgil’s padded down the quiet hall. He would have gone faster, but he was (unsurprisingly) anxious about waking the others up. He knew the quietest route by heart, though. Some of the stairs creaked in certain places, but Virgil had walked down so many times in the middle of the night, he effortlessly avoided the treacherous spots.

Virgil made his way to Dee’s door, crossing the kitchen, which was really eerie at night. He sensed, as he went, Dee waking up, making the cloud of terror disperse, but Virgil could tell that he was still scared, the nightmare clinging to him like spiderwebs. Virgil could also sense...sorrow? And perhaps...guilt? Maybe? It was  _ atrociously _ hard to see. But what would Dee be guilty about? He had only been nice and comforting ever since he appeared. Well, he had been a little...blunt when they first interacted with him, (Roman and Logan were _still_ salty about that whole “superiority complex” thing) but on the whole he had been a model side, so why was he feeling guilty?

Virgil had pressed his ear to the door, although he knew it wouldn’t do anything. All the rooms were sound proof, for privacy as well as the comfort of others (Roman had an impressive set of lungs...Virgil bet that the creative side could shatter glass if he wanted to). 

So, ever so slowly, Virgil cracked the door open. It took him a couple seconds to figure out Dee’s doorknob, though, but he managed all right.

Heart pounding with the fear that Dee would hear him, Virgil watched and listened. His anxiety heightened his hearing, much to his relief. He didn’t want to spy, but he wanted to make sure that Dee was alright.

Dee was standing in his bathroom, barely visible from where Virgil was standing. He could see his elbows move as he presumably splashed water on his face. Then Dee’s elbows dropped, and he stood in front of the sink for an impossibly long moment. Virgil could hear him breathing, long and slow, like he was trying to calm himself.

Virgil almost stepped inside at that moment, to ask Dee what had upset him so much and if he could help, but Dee turned around, water reflecting off his scales, and trudged back to his bed. Virgil shrank back to avoid being seen, but Dee wasn’t didn’t even glance in his direction. Virgil watched Dee get under his covers, laying down on his side, facing away from the door.

Virgil almost stepped in. He even opened the door wider. But he heard Dee mumbling, and he froze, listening intently to what the newly formed side was saying.

“Stupid Dragon Witch.” Dee was muttering. Virgil had to stain his ears, even with his enhanced hearing.

Confusion roiled in Virgil’s chest. Had Roman or Remus mentioned the Dragon Witch to Dee? He doubted it. Her name had become taboo ever since...yeah.

But how else would Dee know about her? And why would he have any animosity towards her? 

“Don’t see why…” Dee grumbled, voice fading, then starting up again, “...she didn’t have to _kill_ me. Then I wouldn’t _be_ in this mess.”

Virgil’s heart gave a painful  _ thump _ . 

_ What is he talking about? _ Virgil thought, even though he knew  _ exactly  _ what Dee was talking about.

“Now I have to pretend to be  _ Dee.” _ He heard the side say. Virgil’s could feel his legs and hands begin to shake.

“But hey,” the side continued, “I can lie. Hell, that’s my entire  _ thing. _ I’m a liar.”

Virgil felt like his entire world was crashing down around him, but at the same time it was being rebuilt where he was standing. Anger and—and  _ joy _ warred in his chest. His legs almost gave out beneath him, and he had to hand on to the doorframe to keep from falling. It  _ was _ —it was  _ him _ . He was  _ here. _ He was  _ alive. _

Virgil let the door swing open, clutching the doorframe. His voice shook with emotion, furious but ecstatic and so, _so_ _hopeful_.

“Deceit?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops


	15. FUUUUUC—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m pretty sure the title sums up everyone’s feeling about the world rn lol

_Fuck._

That’s all that went through Deceit’s mind as Virgil stood accusingly in the doorway. Well, that and vivid memories of the frigid subconscious. ~~_I can’t go back please don’t make me go back_~~

Virgil took a step forward. Deceit could see the anxious side shaking all the way from where he lay.

“Have you—you’re...you’ve been—” Virgil stuttered out, swallowing hard. Deceit saw him blink. Once, twice, four times.

Deceit’s heart pounded. He knew how he was going to get out of this mess... but he _hated_ that he had to do it. He slowly sat up and slid off the bed. Virgil flinched, and Deceit could feel his rising panic—or whatever emotion that was. He held his hands up in a calming gesture, “Hey, Virgil,” he said softly, “I’m going to need to stay calm.”

Virgil said nothing, not moving, just starting at Deceit. Deceit couldn’t make out the emotions warring across his face. Anger? Happiness? Fear? All of the above and more?

Deceit stood in front of one of his former best friends. He could see the tears gathering in Virgil’s eyes. Nope, now they were spilling out as he blinked, looking like a silvery waterfall in the blue light of his alarm clock. 

“Virgil?” Deceit asked carefully.

Virgil pressed his lips together, and Deceit could see the tiniest tips of his elongated canines peeking out from his upper lip. Virgil blinked again, face screwed up in an effort not to cry. A whimper escaped from his tightly shut mouth.

“Oh, _Virgil_.” Deceit said softly, heart breaking inside his chest. He couldn’t stop himself from enveloping the anxious side in a comforting hug. Whether he was comforting Virgil, or himself, was lost to the stars and wind. It’s for the reader to decide.

Virgil didn’t back away, and he instead buried his face in Deceit’s shoulder, “ _God,_ Deceit.” He choked out, “You were—you were. And you never told—why didn’t you—” Virgil cut himself off with a sob, “I’m so—I’m so _angry_ at you.”

Deceit rubbed Virgil’s back, feeling hot tears escape the corner of his right eye and slide down his face like molten lava, “I know.”

Then, Deceit firmly pressed his hand against Virgil’s head, letting his power disperse. Virgil slumped against Deceit, no longer conscious.

Deceit knelt down, still clutching Virgil. The unconscious side’s head lolled to the side, his breathing even and deep. Deceit swallowed against the tears building up. He couldn’t break down right now.

“You never heard what I said.” Deceit whispered into Virgil’s ear, “You came downstairs for a drink, and you went right back up again and you fell asleep immediately. You never came to my room, and you _never_ found out I remembered.”

Deceit saw the lie through his tears, a glowing yellow wisp in the air, settle onto Virgil’s closed eyes. It rested on top of Virgil’s eyelids for a second, then sank in like water in sand. Virgil’s eyes blinked open, and they flashed a bright yellow before fading back into their usual brown.

Deceit helped Virgil stand up. Virgil didn’t say a word of thanks. Well, that was to be expected. Deceit hadn’t told him to. Virgil abruptly turned around and walked out the still-open door. His gait was unnatural, too smooth, yet his limbs jerked around strangely. He looked akin to a marionette on a string, or an NPC.

Deceit watched Virgil march out of sight, and then he closed the door with shaking hands and sank down against it, his head thudding against it uncomfortably. 

Deceit clutched at his hair and pulled, screwing his eyes shut in an effort not to cry, not unlike Virgil had a few moments before. ~~_Damn_ I want my hat~~ ~~.~~ A quiet sob escaped him, and he felt bile rise up in his throat as what he had just done sank in.

_Good job, you slimy snake fuck._ He told himself, _You have successfully screwed_ everything _up._

Virgil had been exposed to Deceit and his lies before, and was sensitive enough to notice his influence. There was _no_ way that he wasn’t going to be suspicious, and when he woke up he would know immediately, and he would run down the stairs and then everyone would know and he might as well walk to the subconscious himself and save them the trouble.

Deceit hugged his knees, a sharp spike of fear shooting through him. It physically hurt him, his stomach flip-flopping over itself painfully.

Deceit drew in a shaky breath. Well, there was no avoiding it now. His best chance for survival was to just act natural and hope that Virgil would look over it.

~~But he was so _scared_ that they would throw him into the Subconsious. ~~

~~_I can’t go back please don’t make me go back it’s so_ cold _there._ ~~

Deceit wobbled to his feet, steadying himself on his door. 

~~_I’m going to die I’m going to go into the Subconscious and I’m going to_ die. ~~

Deceit curled up on his bed, tears making fresh tracks on his cheeks.

He would just have to see what happened at breakfast.

— — —

Virgil woke up feeling odd. Hadn’t he planned to stay up last night? He usually could follow through with ease. He couldn’t even remember falling asleep. He had come downstairs for a glass of water and then he went right back upstairs and fell asleep immediately. Or, so he supposed. He couldn’t actually remember that part.

His gums hurt, too, like he had accidentally entered Spider Mode for a second, but he couldn’t remember anything freaking him out.

Something about this situation felt familiar…

(Was that a flash of yellow?)

Eh. Oh well. Virgil shrugged it off. He didn’t have the energy to overthink it like he normally did.

But the odd feeling didn’t leave him as he made his way down the stairs, slightly late, as he always was. Had something happened last night?

Dee was staring at him oddly. Like, he was looking at him but pretending not to. Did he have something on his face?

_Dammit, Virgil, you didn’t even check to see if you looked weird?_ He reprimanded himself, _Oh, great, now the attention’s on you and you have gunk on your face. Or is it my makeup? Is it not dark enough? Dammit I_ knew _I should’ve_ actually _done it today!_

Despite his inner panic, Virgil sat down at the table and accepted the plate of biscuits and gravy offered to him. It wasn’t often that Patton made something that took so long to make. He must still be trying to make nice food for Dee. Lately, however, the side ~~that looked so, _so_ much like Deceit ~~ hadn’t been eating as voraciously as he had when he first appeared. He was only a week old, though, so perhaps he was just settling in.

As Virgil started shoveling food into his mouth, he noticed anxiety radiating off of Dee. Had he had a nightma—

Virgil blinked. Had there been a flash of yellow in the corner of his vision? No, of course not. He was just imagining things.

— — —

Breakfast was as normal, with Virgil stowing away his dishes in the sink and making his way up the stairs with a two-fingered salute and a wave. Now, he was on his phone, scrolling through tumblr as he sat on his bed in the criss cross-applesauce position.

A knock sounded at his door.

Virgil lifted one ear of his headphones off and called out, “Yeah?” 

Roman opened the door a crack and peeked in, “Hey, there, my…” he paused, searching for a nickname, but apparently gave up, “Uh...Virgil.” He said awkwardly.

Virgil felt the awkwardness seep into the room like blood into a wound. 

(No, he was not thinking about how the way Roman had phrased it made it “my Virgil”) 

(he was _not)_

(Shut up.)

Virgil cleared his throat, “Um, what did you come here for?” 

Roman’s hand clutched at the doorknob, and Virgil could feel the rising nervousness inside of the side, “Well, ah...do you think we could talk somewhere where I _won’t_ turn into a...candy-assed skulker?”

Virgil hummed as he slid off his bed, “Candy-assed? That’s new.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a thing.” Roman huffed at him.

Virgil stepped over the threshold of his doorways and closed his door behind him. Roman visibly relaxed.

“Well, the door’s closed.” Virgil said after a moment of silence, “What do you want?”

Roman rocked on his heels for a moment, “Welll…” he started, stretching out the word like an elastic band, “I was wondering if we could talk...somewhere that wasn’t in the hall?”

Virgil crosses his arms, “Like where?” His voice came out more hostile than he thought it would. 

(No, he wasn’t nervous at _all)_

(Wait, fuck that, he’s _Anxiety_ , he’s _always_ nervous)

(He just so happened to be a little more nervous than normal at this particular moment of time)

(But it wasn’t because Princey was here)

_(Obviously)_

Roman growled under his breath, “Dammit, Virgil—” he cut himself off and pinched the bridge of his nose, a sharp exhale escaping him, “Here,” he said, and he grabbed Virgil’s wrist, “just let me—”

Before Virgil could jerk away in confusion, the scene around him melted away, revealing an autumn scene, with spindly birch trees with dappled yellow leaves, tall oaks, boasting fiery red leaves, and maples, blazing with vibrant orange leaves, and many others trees that Virgil couldn’t name.

Virgil sucked in a breath sharply as he slowly twisted to take in the scenery. _Well,_ that _fits my aesthetic._

“Do you—do you like it?” Roman asked somewhat breathlessly, and Virgil turned back to face him. Roman’s reddish-brown eyes stared earnestly into Virgil’s darker ones, Roman’s hand still wrapped around Virgil’s wrist.

Virgil blinked at him, and the silence stretched on (was it a couple seconds, or an hour? Virgil couldn’t tell), until he remembered that it was common manners to answer a question presented to you.

“Uh, yeah.” Virgil tore his eyes away from Roman’s, “It’s...okay.”

Roman’s eyes flicked down to where he was still gripping Virgil’s wrist, and he released him with an awkward cough.

Virgil stuffed his hands in his pockets (no, his ears were _not_ burning, thank you very much), “So, uh...why’d you bring me here?”

Roman straightened up, running a hand through his hair, “Well, I was wondering if we could just...talk, I suppose.”

“Why me?” Virgil asked bluntly, “I thought you would come to Patton first.”

Roman huffed, “Patton’s hanging out with Logan right now.”

“Remus?”

Roman rolled his eyes, “He’s being a bitch.”

Harsh, but probably true. Virgil tried again, tentatively asking, “Why not Dee?”

Roman didn’t answer. 

Virgil inwardly cursed himself, “...Right. Sorry.”

“Anyways,” Roman said, with far too much pep in his voice, “care to walk with me?”

Virgil squinted at him. Even though they had been out of the vicinity of his room for a while now, he could still sense a cloud of anxiousness surrounding Roman, “Are you…” Virgil asked incredulously, “are you _nervous?_ ”

“What? No!” Roman said, his voice so high it was shrill. Virgil could practically _feel_ his blood pressure skyrocketing.

_Is he trying to..._ impress _me?_ Virgil wondered.

Roman, oblivious to Virgil’s thoughts, growled under his breath, his ears and cheeks dusted a rosy red, “Oh, just come _on_ already!” Roman swiftly grabbed Virgil’s wrist again and more or less dragged him through the sun-dappled path. 

Virgil’s own anxiety roiled in his gut. Was he expected to...do something now? Roman was embarrassed. Was he angry at him? Roman wasn’t looking at Virgil, his hair flopping down and blocking Virgil’s view of his face. What was this, some anime? 

“Roman,” Virgil started tentatively, “you’re hurting my wrist.”

Roman let go with a sigh and ran his hand through his hair, slowing his swift pace, “Sorry. I'm just—” he sighed again and rubbed his face, “I’m just on edge. I can’t seem to do _anything_ right.” Roman paused, then grimaced, “Sorry. That came out angstier than expected.”

Virgil have a one note chuckle, “Don’t sweat it, Princey. If there’s anyone who understands angst, it’s me.”

Roman barked out a laugh, “Anyways, I just wanted to decompress. And,” Roman looked at Virgil, a smile playing at the corner of his lips, his previous annoyance gone, “I thought you could help me with that.”

_“Me?_ _”_ Virgil asked dubiously, “Me, the _literal_ embodiment of _anxiety_ , can help you _decompress?”_

Roman scratched the back of his neck, “It’s not so preposterous!” He said defensively, “Anxiety _spurs_ creativity! Do you remember high school? I was hoping that if I hung around you a bit, I could climb out of my slump!”

Virgil hummed skeptically, “All right, then.”

They walked in silence for a few moments, and Virgil took in the scenery around him. Colorful leaves littered the sides of the path they walked on, the trees picturesquely framing the trail. The sky was an icy blue past the trees above him, and clouds, dark with the promise of rain, floated freely on its endless expanse. The air was crisp, although not excessively so, just enough to make the tips of Virgil’s fingers red, and make him grateful he was wearing a jacket.

“Here.” Roman said suddenly, grabbing Virgil wrist _(_ _again_ _)_ and pulling him to a side trail, “I want you to see this.”

The side trail Roman had pulled Virgil into was more secluded than the main path, and it seemed to go upwards. It was a small path, so Roman and Virgil couldn’t walk next to each other (he totally wasn’t bothered, of course). It was twisted, with rocks and roots making the climb seem more complex than it was. Spiderwebs hung from the branches in clumps.

“Spiderwebs?” Virgil murmured aloud. He would have thought that Roman would have eradicated every hint of the arachnids from his side of the imagination. He hated spiders, after all.

“Yeah.” Roman said from in front of him, “I figured you’d like ‘em.”

Virgil paused, “Wait, you made this for _me?_ ”

Roman stopped as well, turning around and running his hand through his hair, “Well...yeah? I figured you knew that once I asked if you liked the place.”

“Oh,” was all Virgil could think to say, “I didn’t realize…”

Roman cleared his throat, “Anyways!” He said brightly, “We’re almost there! Come on!” He ducked around a corner and disappeared from Virgil’s line of sight.

Virgil sped his pace up, hoisting himself over a particularly large rock, and turning the corner to see the edge of the forest petering out near a cliff, which Roman was standing on.

Virgil’s anxiety spiked as he saw Roman so close to the edge. With the blink of an eye, he could feel his teeth elongate, his nails became razor sharp.

“ _Roman!”_ Virgil called, his voice had an edge of his Tempest Tongue to it.

Roman jumped slightly, startled by the distortion in Virgil’s voice. He turned, “It’s alright. I won’t fall.”

“Are you sure?” Virgil asked, his voice somewhat distorted. Roman had fallen off cliffs before...and it hadn’t been an exactly _comforting_ sight to see.

“Absolutely.” Roman returned, his voice carefully even and calm, “I wouldn’t make a faulty ledge, and I’m being careful.”

Right. Roman controlled the Imagination. Virgil was just overreacting. Roman was fine.

Roman motioned Virgil closer, “Come on, I want you to see this.”

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Virgil asked. Couldn’t be too careful.

Roman nodded, “Positive.”

Slowly, Virgil edged from the trees, tentatively walking the ten or eleven feet from the forest to the cliff.

Roman squeaked as Virgil came up, his face blossoming with color, “You—you got taller!” He exclaimed, eyes wide.

Virgil looked down and inspected himself, “I guess I did.” He noted, then looked at Roman, “Why? Gotta problem with it?”

Roman looked really small at the moment, (which made sense, since Virgil was now taller than him) and it was strange not to have to look up slightly to make eye contact.

“I don’t mind.” Roman said quickly, his eyes still wide as he looked up at Virgil, “I just—didn’t expect it, that’s all.” He hesitated, “Um... _why_ did you get taller?” 

Now it was Virgil’s turn to scratch his neck, “I kinda overreacted when I saw you so close to the edge, I guess. I get taller when I’m scared.”

“Well, I have to admit that you overreacting a bit is better than shoving me off the edge.” Roman grinned up at him, then knelt down and patted the grass next to him, “Sit down and relax a bit, Virge. The view’s nice.”

Virgil knelt down cautiously as Roman swing his feet over the edge, “It’s safe?”

Roman didn’t even sigh as he assured Virgil for what must have been the hundredth time, “I promise, _no one_ is going to fall off this ledge.”

Virgil sat on the edge like Roman was, with his feet hanging down, _Is that a hundred feet down?_ He wondered, _Or three hundred?_

“Chil _lax,”_ Roman nudged Virgil, “we’re _fine._ ”

“Y-yeah.” Virgil agreed, y’know, like a _liar_ , “We’re fine.”

Virgil heard Roman huff at him, and the creative side grabbed Virgil’s chin and turned it away from the long drop, “Look at the actual view, _mi Ansie,_ you’ll just scare yourself if you look down.”

Virgil looked out at the scene set before him— _made_ for him. A red, orange, and yellow sea of leaves waved underneath them, rustling in the light breeze. A fog had moved in, making the forest seem more dark and mysterious than it had before. A gust of wind, warm and wet with the prospect of rain, blew at their backs, making Virgil clutch Roman’s arm in fear. Roman chuckled.

“Are you cold?” The creative side asked Virgil.

“No.” Virgil responded, “This is fine.”

The two sat in silence as they breathed the crisp air, heavy and humid with the warm scent of dirt and decaying leaves. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ive never written romance before aaaaaAHHHHH its so HARD ajshskansbshamsndhanjsjsjs
> 
> No one talk to me for the next thousand years I’m never going to recover
> 
> ignore me I’m just embarrassed lol
> 
> Who else’s school shut down bc of the Coronavirus? Stay healthy, and wash your hands!


	16. Wow! They All Have Trauma!

Deceit was getting under his covers after an unbearably boring day—that is to say, the day wasn’t that different from a normal day before he died.

Actually, that wasn’t true. A normal day usually included being constantly bugged by Remus. But Deceit hadn’t even seen him today. 

That left an odd feeling in his chest. Really, _really_ odd. Probably relief. He had complained every day about Remus, hadn’t he? He had long for a break from the unending _energy_ , and _poking_ , and _innuendos_ , and parasitic _clinging_. So he was relieved, obviously. Yeah, of course he was. That was the only thing that made sense.

_Right._ Deceit thought wryly, _Because I feel_ so _fucking_ joyful _right now._

It was stressful, to have to keep up this lie. Like, hell, he may have been the embodiment of lies, but even the Creativities ran out of ideas sometimes. Keeping up such a huge lie took energy. Saying regular untruths _did_ help boost his power, but such an intricate lie took _work_. Good thing he could draw power from everyone else lying so frickin’ much.

It was so _weird_ to see everyone without having to worry about whether he should hide or not. Usually, if Deceit saw Virgil — even in passing, the anxious side would give him one of his hisses and threaten him.

Roman usually insulted him to his face whenever he saw him. The boisterous side adored him, but in _such_ an odd way. One moment he was all but _flirting_ with Deceit, and the next he was calling him a creep and a fake. Talk about _conflicted._

Logan went into a verbal _attack_ mode if he saw Deceit. He’d interrogate him to whether or not if he was planning something, or point out all the flaws in a previous argument (hurtful much?). Sometimes, though, the logical side just gave him the cold shoulder, especially if Deceit had insulted him recently. 

Patton normally didn’t have to do anything to make Deceit leave—Deceit usually skedaddled if he even saw the shadow of the terrifying bubbly side.

But now, they were all pretending to be _nice_ to him. They _were_ nice to him. They thought that he was a helpless little amnesiac with no idea how _awful_ they were. They tried to butter him up with _makeovers_ and _cakes_ and _science experiments_ , but it was all _useless._ He didn’t want anything before, and he didn’t want anything now. Absolutely _nothing_ could make him even begin to trust them.

But…

Well, okay. Deceit _knew_ niceties were one big fat lie (they _had_ to be), but even with that knowledge...it was kinda nice to be welcomed. He couldn’t remember the last time someone else cooked dinner for him, and by no means had he, Remus, and Virgil had _ever_ had any successful movie nights. And to even _pretend_ to be in Virgil’s good graces again...it was almost enough to make him roll with the lie with no complaints.

Deceit knew the _second_ he let the rest of the sides know that he remembered, they’d assume he had faked this _whole thing_ to get in Thomas’s good graces and make him lie from behind the scenes. Which...wasn’t a bad idea, actually. But making Thomas lie had been moved to the very _last_ of his priorities. He just wanted to make it out of this mess _alive._

But one thing Deceit _couldn’t_ figure out was how they were able to rope _Remus_ into this. He was surprised that Remus hadn’t told him immediately who he was. Weren’t they closer than that? The macabre side had always been the most truthful, even more than Patton. Remus _never_ hesitated to say what was on his mind, or what he wanted to do, or who he wanted to kill. It was annoying, sure, but...Deceit kinda admired that about him. So how had the Light Sides managed to make him so hush-hush about this? ~~Maybe Remus hated him more than he thought.~~ Had they threatened him? No, he didn’t think Remus could _ever_ be threatened. It wasn’t like he had anything to be threatened over. His only possessions were his side of the Imagination, his morning star, and his own oddness. So what could they hold over his head?

As Deceit lay in the darkness of his room, lit only by his alarm clock, he curled up into himself. Maybe...maybe they hadn’t threatened him. Maybe Remus had kept him a secret of his own free will. Maybe...maybe Remus was _glad_ he was gone.

Deceit’s hands moved to cover his mouth as a unexpected tears sprung into his eyes, shocked at the revelation. No. _No._ He and Remus had been _close_. Remus had trusted him more than his own _brother_. Deceit was sure Remus had been _devastated_ when he died. Of _course_ he had been.

Deceit tasted the familiar, sickly sweet lie on his tongue like rancid honey. It made him sick to his stomach.

Deceit found himself hugging his pillow, _Oh_ God, _they_ all _hate me._ His mind thought, ignoring his internal pleading to just shut _up_ already, _They’re_ glad _I’m not there to_ fuck _things up._

Really, it shouldn’t be such a revelation to him. He had been _very_ aware of the Light Sides’ hatred of him before he had died (they were _talented_ in making it as clear as possible). It wasn’t really surprising that they had tried to _erase_ his entire _existence._

It wasn’t surprising...but that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt. 

Deceit’s mind strayed to the events of the night before. After he had rewrote Virgil’s memories, he had infused the walls, the floor, the whole _room_ with an anti-anxiety lie. It didn’t make it harder to _have_ anxiety, it just made it harder for Virgil to _sense_ his anxiety. He didn’t have the strength— physical _or_ mental— to have to infuse Virgil with a lie every time he had a nightmare, which was... _about_ every night so far, save that one dream with the talking snake, which he had actually met once. It had strayed from the Creativies’ halves of the mindscape. It had said it was a...Serpent Sorcerer? A Sorcerer Serpent? Sorcerent?

That had been a strange day, but he had actually enjoyed its brief company. It had been...a little off, not a complex enough idea to be a fully-rounded character, but it was enough to have an engaging conversation with. The Serpent had been intrigued by the rumors in the kingdom about a side with a snake face, so he had traveled over the border to find him.

As Deceit’s thoughts strayed, his eyelids began to feel heavy. He didn’t fight off the hypnotic lull of sleep—he knew he was most likely going to have a nightmare, but he didn’t have the energy or willpower to fight it. Might as well get whatever sleep he can.

Right before he fell asleep, Deceit tugged at his hair in annoyance. 

_Damn, I miss my hat._

— — —

Remus was in bed.

He didn’t want to go to sleep.

He wished he’d have his normal dreams again. Usually, he’d have the average teeth-falling-out-and-then-you’d-eat-them dream, or the throwing-up-so-hard-you-puked-out-your-intestines dream, or maybe his favorite, you’re-on-fire-and-also-surrounded-by-multiple-Jack-Blacks-wearing-green-spandex-jumpsuits dream. ( _That_ had been a good one.) But for the past few months...Remus dreamt about one thing and one thing only.

_Him._

It didn’t matter if it was a bad or bad memory, his dreams were _infested_ with them. His brain decided to go over every experience with the snakelike side. And let me tell you, when you have lived with someone for about two decades, there are a _lot_ of memories.

Somedays Remus didn’t want to wake up. Somedays he didn’t. Sleep was a place where he could _almost_ forget. His dreams were so lifelike, so _real_ that he felt he could just... _pretend_ reality away. 

But other days...he couldn’t. He just _couldn’t._ Reality— although always a crushing force for Creativity, was now like a rusty stake stabbed through his heart. He could _physically_ feel the pain. It was incomprehensibly minuscule compared to the average amount of pain he encountered—like ripping off an arm or breaking his spine (y’know, the usual)—but yet it hurt so, _so_ much more than _any_ other pain he had faced.

Oh god, it _hurt_ so _much._

— — —

_Remus was in his side of the Imagination, gleefully smashing in goblins’ brains with his morning star, when he heard a squealing chatter from the nearby virikas._

_Remus’s head shot up. Virikas were harbingers of doom—specifically_ death. _But there was_ plenty _of death in his realm, the virikas couldn’t chatter for_ all _of it...something that made them chatter_ this _excitedly must be_ powerful.

_The virikas started moving slowly towards Roman’s side of the Imagination, clacking their bloodstained teeth and jabbering eagerly. Their fire-red arms and heads waved and bobbed as they all shuffled towards the brightness of Roman’s kingdom._

_Remus frowned curiously and started forward._

_This particular hoard of virikas was one of the largest. He was almost_ nervous _about what would make such a huge group so excited._

_The virikas entered one of the forests in Remus’s realms, picking up the pace and chittering even more fervor, gnashing their sharp, bloodstained teeth with vigor. Remus had to jog to keep up._

_The virikas abruptly took a quick turn to their right, out of the forest and emerging into a meadow that Remus commonly used for battles. It was the largest meadow he had and served its purpose well._

_Remus stopped, and a rare flash of fear bolted through him like lightning (rush through him through his heart_ fry him alive) _as he saw what was waiting for him._

_The whole valley was filled with different types of fae,_ thousands _of virikas, several banshees, and Remus even saw four spirits of Bean-Nighe. He didn’t even know there were more than_ two _spirits of Bean-Nighe._

_There were many,_ many _more types of fae in the meadow, and a shiver of glee—but also fear—went up Remus’s spine as he realized that they were almost_ all _fae attracted to death._

~~I shoulda known.~~

_All the fae were making a racket. Chittering, screaming, wailing, singing, burping, and screeching could be heard from the hoard of fae. The only reason he hadn’t heard them earlier was that the group of virikas he had followed had drowned it out with their own noise._

_The fae were restless, and some had started to claw at each other and kill in their anticipation for death._

_Remus jumped into a boulder and craned his neck to see why they gigantic hoard wasn’t moving in any direction. The valley had several inlets, more like mini-canyons, leading away from it, and he saw one particular inlet-canyon was especially crowded. It was the one leading to Roman’s side of the Imagination. The slightly red barrier was blocking any of Remus’s creations from spilling into Roman’s realm._

_Remus’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Roman_ never _had a war so important that all the harbingers of death in this realm would be clamoring to get into Roman’s. Remus was almost jealous that Roman had figured out how to have a bloodbath better than the one that was continuously happening in Remus’s side of the Imagination._

_Remus closed his eyes and concentrated on Roman. His brother had several barriers and charms trying to block him out of his realm, but Remus could break through those if he_ really _wanted to._

_—_

_Remus appeared next to his twin. Roman had his sword out, pointed at Deceit, “What’s happening?” Remus asked, head tilted._

_Deceit pinched the bridge of his nose, a quiet sigh escaping him,_ “ _I’m_ not _out of here.” He announced, “I_ wasn’t _just trying to_ relax _or anything.”_

_And with that, Deceit stormed away._

~~I shoulda followed him.~~

_There was a little silence as they wanted the snakelike side flee out of their sight._

_“Did we go a bit overboard?” Roman asked, the top of his sword lowering as he dropped his stance._

~~Your fault.~~

_“I think we did, kiddo…” Patton said, sounding a bit regretful._

~~_Your_ _fault_~~

_Virgil made a_ tch _sound, “Yeah, whatever.” He turned to Remus, glaring, “And what are_ you _doing here?” He growled._

~~**Your** **fault.**~~

_Remus held his hands up in mock surrender, “Don't glare at_ me, _I’m here to talk to Roman.”_

_Roman_ poofed _his sword away and crossed his arms, “What do you want me for?”_

_“Are you hosting a war without me?” Remus asked, voice accusing, although Roman wasn’t known to have_ that _much fun without him._

_“Hosting?” Virgil asked, “You don’t_ host _wars. It’s not a party.”_

_Remus shrugged, blood on his shirt glistening, “Maybe_ you _don’t.”_

_“A war? No, there are no_ wars _going on.” Roman said scornfully, “My realm is peaceful.”_

_Remus crossed his arms, “Well, all the fae in mine are_ dying _to get in your realm—_ literally! _The ones attracted to death and blood and_ other _cool stuff!”_

_Roman’s eyebrows furrowed, “They_ are?”

_Remus nodded, “_ All _of them. Literally every bloodlusting fae is in the valley leading to your realm.”_

_Roman paled, “_ What?”

_Remus nodded again, “By the way, why are you trespassing?”_

_“I’m not_ trespassing! _” Roman said, affronted._

_“You see those hedges?” Remus twisted, pointing at the bushes to his right, “Those are the boundaries to Deedee’s realm. He put them up because the fae are attracted to his realm because of his lying, and his barrier always fails because there’s so many of them. The hedges are specifically designed to keep my Folk out.”_

~~Shoulda _known_ should have _cared_ your fault your fault _your fault._~~

_“Wait.” Logan butted into the conversation, “You said that constant barrage of faeries weakens his barrier?”_

_~~Your fault your fault your fault~~ _

_At Remus’s nod, the logical side turned to Roman, “I believe the same thing happened to your barrier. That would mean that_ we _were the one’s trespassing, and Deceit_ was _actually telling the truth.”_

…

~~_Not_ your fault.~~

_“Wait, really?” Roman paused as he looked at the logical side, then smacked his forehead, “Dammit, we_ really _screwed up.”_

~~Not _your_ fault.~~

_“Roman,” Virgil started, “what about those fae? For all the ones in Remus’s realm to want to get inside yours...that would mean there are a_ lot _of things going to die.”_

~~_...Not your fault._ ~~

_“Or one,_ powerful _thing.” Roman added, equally as worried._

_“Hey, guys?” Patton asked, apprehension coloring his tone, “Didn’t Deceit head off in the direction_ we _were going?” His eyes were filled with fear, “Towards the Dragon Witch?”_

~~...Not your fault, either.~~

— — —

Remus woke up before he had to see—had to see him die again.

~~_Who’s fault?_ ~~

He curled up on his bed. How much more would he have to see him die again? How much more was he going to have to see his own mistakes and everything he had ever done leading up to that moment? How much more did he have to be _reminded_ of him? 

How much more could he take?

~~I can’t I can’t no more _please_~~

Remus heard his door creak open. He didn’t look up. He knew who it was.

“Go away, Virgil.” Remus said.

~~Don’t wanna talk don’t wanna _think_ just go _away_~~

“You know I can’t.” Came the quiet reply. Virgil sat down in the bed, covers rustling slightly as he did so, “The nightmares were really bad tonight, huh?”

~~Why do you care you left you _left_ us you made him sad why why why _why?_ Just go away I don’t want you here~~

“I keep on dreaming about that— _that_ day.” Remus whispered. 

“I know.” Virgil whispered, “So do I.”

A tear made its way down Remus’s face, rolling across his cheek into his ruffled sleeves. Virgil undoubtedly noticed, but he didn’t say anything.

The anxious side said nothing for a while, and Remus could hear him nervously picking at the lint on his sleeves. That had always been a habit of his.

~~You left and then _he_ left and he’s not coming back and I _want him back_ everyone everyone leaves _why did you leave us?_~~

“I’m sorry.” The apology was sudden, and for a moment Remus didn’t know who gave it, but Virgil continued, “I...I know I was... _unfair_ to you and—and Deceit. I shouldn't've—I shouldn’t’ve—” Virgil’s voice broke.

~~I…~~

~~Wait. _No_.~~

~~Don’t be sad please don’t be sad I didn’t want you to cry I’m sorry I’m sorry I did want you here I’ve missed you so much I’m sorry I’m sorr~~

Remus sat up, legs in the criss-cross applesauce position. He scootched himself closer to Virgil. He wasn’t one for comforting—he had done the exact opposite to Virgil plenty of times. But...this— _Deceit’s death..._ it wasn’t the type of thing you could take lightly. _Deceit_ wasn’t someone you could take lightly. 

~~But they did they ignored him they made him feel bad~~

Remus hesitantly patted Virgil’s shoulder, “I...forgive you?” He offered. He wasn’t very practiced in the art in comforting and amnesty, and the pardoning came out awkwardly.

Virgil gave him a sidelong glance, “Would you have said that before he died?”

~~Dead dead _he’s dead_ he’s dead dead dead~~

Remus looked down at the patterns on his bed covers, spatters of blood joining the skulls and bones patterns stitched into them, “Probably not.” He answered honestly, “But it seems kinda pointless to hate you now.”

Virgil nodded, as if this didn’t surprise him. Which it probably didn’t. The anxious side was as pessimistic as possible so he was usually right. Deceit had always assumed the worst, so he’d be prepared for anything, a counterattack to an argument, a particularly bad insult, pretty much anything and everything. Virgil had picked up his pessimism and scrutiny from him.

Remus attempted at small talk, “How was your date with Roman?” The question didn’t match his monotone voice, so much more bland than it usually was.

What Remus lacked in enthusiasm Virgil more than made up for it in shock and revulsion, “It—it wasn’t a _date_!” Virgil’s voice pitched as he jolted on the bed, “It was—we here just going for a walk!”

Remus shrugged, “Walk, _shmalk!_ Roman made that place specifically for you, didn’t he?”

Remus could feel Virgil squinting at him, “How do you even know about it?” The anxious side asked, “It’s not like he was talking about it beforehand.” 

Remus shrugged again, “Roman likes to write his ideas down, but he throws his papers away a lot. He doesn’t miss one or two papers every now and then.”

(Or, y’know _all_ the time.)

Virgil gave an almost disbelieving chuckle, “You’ve always been a kleptomaniac, haven’t you?”

Remus gave a small giggle, “Yu _p_!” He popped the ‘p’ like a pimple, nice and wet. 

Virgil sighed and shook his head, although it was obvious he had a small smile on his face, “I _would_ tell Roman, but I feel like that could come in handy at one point.”

Remus perked up, “Are you giving me permission to steal _more_ things?” 

(Oh _please_ I can steal a lot of things I’m _very_ good at stealing)

Virgil grinned in the semi-darkness of the room, “ _Technically,_ I never said that _,_ but _also_ technically, I didn’t _not_ say that, so...I’ll go with a flat _maybe._ ”

Remus let a cackle rip through him (like he ripped a piece of paper or how he ripped her wings off ~~she deserved it she’s dead she’s dead I’m so glad~~ ), “I’ll be sure to tell that to my lawyer!”

Virgil snorted, and Remus smiled wide with his sharp teeth, “You never answered my question, by the way! How’d it go?”

Virgil covered his face with his hands in embarrassment, “It wasn’t a _date_!” He protested through his fingers..

Remus leaned in close, getting in Virgil’s personal space, “Did you guys _fuck?_ ” He stage-whispered.

“ _No_!” Virgil shrieked, “No, _God_ no! _Urgh_ ! _Absolutely_ not! I swear by the microphone of _Gerard Way_ we did _nothing_ like that!” He gagged, “ _Uuurgh.”_

Remus shrugged, “Oh well,” Then he brightened, “maybe next time!”

Virgil appeared unable to articulate an answer. He _might’ve_ said something, but his head was buried in his hands and it just came out as a jumbled groan.

Taking his silence as an invitation to keep on talking, Remus changed the subject, “I’ve been thinking…” he started, “You know your spider legs? What would happen if you attached hands to the end of those? And like, they wiggled their fingers!”

“That sounds...very disgusting.” Virgil answered, removing his hands from his face.

Remus grinned a wild, sharp smile, “Thank you!”

  
  


(Remus felt happy again)

— — —

It was a while before Virgil left to go to bed, but when he did Remus thought that he might just be willing to stab him a couple times. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because stabbing is the /perfect/ way to show love, Remus. That wouldn’t terrify him at /all/.
> 
> (tumblr is @astronomical-bagel)


	17. I Wanted to Include a Pun in the Title but I’m Tired and Sad so We’re Just Rolling with It.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title explanation: SUF is short for suffering and I’m really sad that Steven Universe ended and also I drank three fourths of an entire bottle of Mountain Dew in like <5 minutes so I’m really tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have ADHD so caffeine makes me sleepy
> 
> Also sorry for updating at eleven at night I didn’t have the emotional capacity to edit this until now. Sorry if it’s shitty.
> 
> (Also I just CHUGGED that 2-liter bottle at the very end of Everything’s Fine Bc I was nervous and I’m really proud how fast I did it but also I almost threw up so there’s that for ya)

Patton was making breakfast, bacon sizzling in the pan, warm omelets on the counter, ready for eating. He was just about to go tell the rest of the sides to wake up. He took the bacon out of the pan and distributed them onto the plates, then marched off to the other side’s rooms.

He went to Roman’s room first, knocking on the door quietly, “Hey kiddo? It’s time to go to breakfast!”

“Yep! I’ll be out in a second, my dearest Pops!” Came the boisterous reply.

Patton smiled to himself and headed on to Logan’s door.

He had to walk a little way to get to it. The mindscape was by no means any replica of Thomas’s house. It wasn’t really a replica of _any_ house, really. The mindscape kinda...moved? Or perhaps...shifted? In different directions, sometimes. It was Thomas’s mind, after all. Nothing inside it was permanent. ~~Kinda like how Deceit wasn’t permanent.~~

The mindscape tended to have long, almost endless hallways, and the door placement in it varied. The rooms hardly ever actually _moved_ , though. Except, maybe Remus’s? Patton wasn’t _sure_ if it moved, but it might? He didn’t know. When Virgil had felt comfortable with them, his room had moved to their side of the mindscape suddenly, and it was a big, monumental event. But, the doors _did_ shift regularly, just a little bit up and down the hallways and such.

After Deceit had...well, after _that,_ the doors had shifted rather rapidly. Roman’s and Patton’s had grown closer to the kitchen. You could practically see the chipping blue paint of Patton’s food if you stood at the stove. Logan’s door had moved farther away, however. Patton tried not to think about it too much. Virgil’s room, although in the hallway up the stairs, did move back and forth, as if the side was toggling between ‘social’ and ‘asocial’ like he had a switch. Remus’s room was as far away as possible from the rest of them. His room used to be in the Dark Side’s half—well, more of a _sliver,_ but they _could’ve_ expanded if they _really_ wanted to— of the mindscape, but when they decided there was no more difference, the Dark half had just...vanished, somehow, and Remus’s room was forced to join the rest of theirs. (Remus didn’t come out of his room for days after that.)

Patton was saved from the familiar flash of guilt as he stopped at Logan’s door. The dark blue paint, splattered with flecks of paint similar to stars, was immaculate as ever. 

Patton knocked softly on the door, and Logan answered it almost immediately, swinging the door open with a quiet _woosh._

“Salutations, Patton.” Logan gave him a soft smile.

Patton grinned in return, “Good morning, Lo!”

The two walked together to the kitchen, Logan stopping by the coffee machine while Patton continued on up the stairs. The stairs lead to a hallway, but the only room on it was Virgil’s. It had an end, of course...probably...but Patton never wandered too far down into it. 

The farther down you went into the Hallway, the darker it got, and you always felt like you were being watched, or spiders were crawling up your legs, eyes red and fangs dripping, thirsty for blood. You would wonder if you could run fast enough to escape the quicksand of time, or if your poor, thundering heart would collapse before you could get to safety. Perhaps the spiders would trap you with their webs. They would make you their _feast_. You cannot escape the eight-legged-fiends of death. _The spiders control all_ _._

So yeah, he didn’t go down there very much.

He climbed up the stairs and knocked on Virgil’s door loudly, “Hey, Virge? Kiddo? Time to wake up!”

Virgil let out a moan, and Patton took that as a sign he was up. He’d come down in time.

Going to the newest hallway, the one that had appeared after the dark part of the mindscape had vanished, and where Remus’s room was located.

Remus’s door was _super_ _duper_ far down the hallway, like, _really, really_ far away. Patton had to jog a bit to avoid being late for breakfast sometimes. Lucky _Remus_ could teleport, but Patton couldn’t, so _mleh. (_ He was, as the kids these days say, _shady_ about it. Or was it _salty?_ Throwing some salt? He should probably ask Logan if it was on one of his flashcards.)

Patton shouldn’t be hurt at the fact that Remus so obviously hated them. Well, _him_ , specifically. He had _tried_ to apologize for everything, but, well...

He hadn’t really expected Remus to forgive him anyways. At least the side’s form of hatred was more or less ignoring Patton’s existence. Remus almost _never_ addressed him, or if he did, it was only to make an inappropriate joke that always went over Patton’s head. He had only spoken to Patton once in the past week or so, and it was during Dee’s first breakfast with them.

(Patton did enjoy being the father figure, but the way the others had reacted when Remus called him ‘Daddy’ meant that was probably not something Remus should have said)

After Patton _finally_ arrived at Remus’s door, he rapped smartly on the bloodstained wood, “Hey, Remus? Buddy? Breakfast time.”

Remus didn’t answer verbally, but the _thump_ on the door, from Remus throwing something, no doubt, told Patton that he was awake. He didn’t know if he would show up (although he probably would. He had almost every day since Dee arrived), but he didn’t want to push him into something he was uncomfortable with. 

“Okay, kiddo.” Patton said, unable to keep the hint of sadness in his voice. Everytime he was near Remus, he could feel the sadness emanating from the side. It didn’t really affect Patton _directly,_ and he couldn’t _really_ sense it like Virgil could, but he had always been empathetic.

Patton half-jogged to Decei— _Dee’s_ room in the next hallway over (their room system really _was_ weird, wasn’t it?). 

Patton knocked on the door, a rat-tat- _tat_ beat, “Rise and shine, Dee! I made bacon!”

A loud groan could be heard from the other side of the door, “Bacon?” The side said groggily, “I’m coming.”

Patton chuckled to himself, stifling the flash of guilt he felt whenever he spoke to Dee. ~~_If only you had just_ listened _to him. Then maybe he wouldn’t have… wouldn’t have..._ ~~

Dee’s door was open, “Pat?” He asked, “You good?”

Patton straightened up, blinking as he focused on Dee. He gave the snakelike side a bright smile, “Yep! Let’s go eat!”

Dee said nothing, and Patton _swore_ he saw him glower for a moment—but no. See, look, he was smiling now. He definitely imagined it. And he totally wasn’t shaken right now because that imagined expression looked _exactly_ like how Deceit had glared at him after the callback argument. Not at _all_.

Patten led Dee to the breakfast table, where Remus teleported to his seat with a loud yell, and Virgil trudged down the stairs, mumbling angrily about the noise. Logan and Roman were already there, Logan pouring the coffee he had made in their cups.

Breakfast came and went, with joking and chitchat, and Patton noticed that Remus and Virgil seemed to be less icy towards one another as he headed to his room. That was great! Remus was warming up a bit, in his own way! And his kiddo could begin to heal! Hopefully they _all_ could heal.

And, Patton hoped as he climbed into his bed with some novel or other, that with time (and lots and _lots_ of luck) that Remus could perhaps, maybe, _possibly,_ forgive him? He knew ( _god,_ he _knew_ ) that he had messed up, messed up _big-time,_ when they were little. And then he missed his stop on the mess-up train and kept riding. And he didn’t get off. He didn’t get off until the train crashed and Deceit died.

Patton felt a little sick as he remembered how blood had dribbled out of the late side’s mouth. 

_No_. Patton clutched a pillow at his side. He wasn’t going to think about it. He _wasn’t._ It was done. He couldn't—he didn’t have the mental or emotional capacity to get sucked into that whirlpool of memory right now. He’d cried and done his thing. Now, it was his job to help those who _actually_ knew Deceit. He could help them heal.

Patton sat up with a rough sigh. Sitting and stewing in his thoughts wasn’t going to do anything. He should probably check up on Dee and see if he needed anything. Anything to keep him out of his own thoughts.

— — —

“Dee?” Patton knocked gingerly on the yellow door. 

There was no answer, although Patton could hear a faint humming.

He knocked again, but Dee was probably listening to really loud music, because he didn’t answer again, still humming a bit.

Patton frowned, “Hey, Dee? I’m coming in.”

And with an inexplicable apprehensive feeling, Patton found the doorknob (yes, he fumbled with it because he still didn’t know how it worked. Why was it invisible, again?) and slowly creaked the door open.

Only to stare in open-mouthed surprise as he saw Dee sitting on a recliner, earbuds blasting music in his ears. He seemed to be...sewing? 

Some part of Patton was really happy about that— Dee was getting hobbies! He was settling in!

The the other part— the _larger_ part— of Patton, was a little hung up on the fact that _Dee was wearing a bowler’s hat._

Patton’s grip tightened on the door. His mouth opened, and closed, and opened, and closed again. He was probably making some noise, but he couldn’t hear it past the ringing in his ears. His stomach was flipping like a pancake.

Patton saw Dee look up.

Dee looked panicked.

Dee’s eyes flashed.

The world turned yellow.

— — —

Patton turned his head to the side. What was he doing again? He remembered getting up to—

There was that flash of yellow.

(Why did it seem familiar, he wondered)

Oh, yeah. He had gotten tired and decided to head off to bed. Yeah. And he just woke up. Yeah, of course! And it was nearing dinnertime! He should probably get started on making some Mac and Cheese! 

Patton made his way over to the kitchen, somewhat surprised that it was already six thirty. He must have been really tuckered out, huh? 

It was kinda funny, though, he didn't really remember falling asleep...or being that tired, actually. That was odd...

Patton saw yellow dance on the back of his eyelids as he blinked.

— — —

Deceit was still shaking.

He had just wanted to wear his hat again...it was a comfort item, okay? Before...all _this,_ Deceit had hardly _ever_ taken it off. He had even slept with it sometimes! It was just… so _hard_ to lie to ~~his family~~ ~~his _enemies_~~ his ~~counterparts~~ all the time, he had just wanted to relax! God, he really should’ve just gone with a _beanie,_ but he wanted _his_ hat! What was so wrong with that?

Dee sighed, a wet, on the verge of tears sigh, as he flopped onto his recliner, rubbing his arms as he tried to dispel the ever-present cold that seemed to cling to him like an old skin.

_Why?_ He asked the void for the ten-billionth time, _Why me? Why the one with the most to lose?_

Well. He didn’t have much to lose, actually. He just had his hat, his lies, his books, and...Remus, he guessed. He’d _already_ lost Virgil. Two years ago, in fact.

But hadn’t he technically lost Remus as well? The annoying side had gone along with the Light’s plan to keep his identity from him after he regenerated. Didn’t that mean he had left the Dark Side’s as well.

That meant—that meant Deceit was alone. He was alone in a world where he could be forced into a cold prison for letting them _know_ of his very _existence_ . He was truly, utterly, _terrifyingly_ alone.

Could there even _be_ a dark corner to the mindscape with only one resident?

Dee pressed the base of his palms to his eyes. If they were red and puffy at dinner, the others would ask questions. They would get suspicious. _Especially_ Patton, and he couldn’t afford that now. Not after the lie he had ingrained was so fresh.

A knock sounded at the door, “Dinnertime!” Patton called out cheerfully.

_Speak of the devil…_

— — —

Logan stood in his room after dinner, looking at his three bookshelves.

He used to have only two.

After Deceit was...discorpereated, Logan had acquired his books. He was the only one to gain any of the late side’s belongings. Those belongings were the only ones that hadn’t disappeared.

He often wondered why.

Logan also often felt… _guilty_ when looking through those books.

They were all about lies, and the action of lying. Well, that made sense, seeing as he had been literally the side of _deceit._ But...it hurt to see the way the books were obviously meticulously cared for. Logan had opened one, once. It had notes written carefully with even handwriting in the margins, obviously Deceit’s, and crude drawings and doodles that could only be Remus’s, accompanied by the occasional note to Deceit, perhaps a sonnet or two, by Virgil when Thomas was in high school.

Logan didn’t look though them anymore. It was too private, as if he was spying on the Dark Side’s lives. And he’d give them to the others, because _he_ couldn’t look though them, but they were his now, apparently, and the mindscape didn’t really like having them taken from his room. Logan couldn’t fathom why.

Logan turned to his desk, biting the inside of his lip against the sudden pain in his chest. He had to edit Roman’s ideas for the next video.

A good two hours later, Logan was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Dinnertime, Lo-Lo!” Patton called out cheerfully. Logan sighed and pushed back his chair as he stood up.

“I’m coming.” He told Patton through the door as he bent over the desk for a second, making some last-minute spelling corrections to the ink-splattered paper before standing up with another sigh.

Patton grinned at Logan as he cracked the door open. The bubbly side probably had waited to get Logan last, knowing that he would want to get in as much work as possible before eating.

“Come on!” Patton said, grabbing his hand and tugging him towards the dining room, “I made Mac and Cheese!”

Logan felt a small smile grace his lips as he let Patton pull him to the warm smells emanating from the kitchen. 

— — —

Logan watched Dee during dinner that night. The side had acted furtive lately, talking less, and shrinking back a little whenever someone spoke to him. Logan wasn’t an expert in psychology or emotions, but he was pretty sure that they had done nothing to warrant a behavior such as this. Even if Remus could get… _difficult_ to handle, Logan had watched him carefully to stop him if he ever went too far. Perhaps something had happened when Logan had been busy working? 

“Hey, Logie!” Remus was in his face, “Whatcha thinking about? You’re being _pretty_ quiet for a guy who was just called a—” He said something unfit for a fic with only a Teen rating, and Logan promptly stored the words in the “trash” part of his memory. Best he forget about that as soon as possible.

Logan adjusted his glasses, a bit disgruntled, “I apologize for my inattentiveness, I was merely thinking about…” Dee was looking at him, “...something unimportant.”

In the corner of his eye, Logan saw Dee narrow his eyes slightly.

In front of him, both Virgil and Roman had previously shot up to cover Patton’s ears, Roman looking frantic, and Virgil looking bored and slightly annoyed, and now they relaxed back into their chairs.

Patton blinked at Logan, unsure of what was going on.

Dee, however, had no reaction to the… _adult_ content Remus had just spewed, eating his Mac and Cheese and regarding the others with a calm expression. 

_Interesting_.

A moment of silence passed. 

Well, it was as silent as it could be. Remus didn’t seem to get the concept of laconicness at all, and happily chewed his cheesey pasta with an open mouth, as if he was trying to be as loud as possible. Which he probably was.

Seeing the half-chewed food splattering out onto Remus’s plate ruined Logan’s appetite, and he curled his lip slightly in disgust. He was almost done, anyways. He got up from his chair.

“I am finished.” Logan told Patton, “I trust you will do the dishes?”

Patton nodded cheerily, “Of course!”

Dee got up as well, “I can help again.” He immediately offered.

“That’s alright, kiddo!” Patton replied, “I got it!”

Dee quietly smiled his thanks and scooped up his dish to put it in the sink. Logan grabbed his own plate and scrapped the rest of the Mac and Cheese into the trash can. It didn’t _really_ count as wasting; they were figments of the imagination, after all.

After stowing his plate into the sink for washing, Logan made his way to his room to work a little bit more before retiring for the night. 

— — —

The next day, Deceit hummed contentedly as he lay in the light of his new heat lamp, the rock under him burning him comfortably, like sand on a beach. It could have been eleven in the morning, or nine at night. Deceit wasn’t really sure. He had made his heat lamp right after breakfast, and had just wasted the day since. 

(Huh. The heat lamp was warm, he could _feel_ the warmth, and yet Deceit still felt so _cold.)_

To be honest, he was still recuperating from that run-in with Patton yesterday...he had done stuff like that before to the bubbly side...but this time around had hit differently. He...he supposed be felt...guilty? No. That was ridiculous. He was Deceit, a proud Dark Side who doesn’t bat an eye at using others for his personal gain. He was elegant and awesome and didn’t associate himself with feelings such as _guilt._

Deceit sighed.

He was wearing black shorts, but he had left his shirt off to absorb the maximum amount of heat. (Not that it’d do much, anyway.) Usually, he wouldn’t be caught dead in such an outfit (or, well, the _lack_ of one). He didn’t really want any more of the...ah, _constructive criticism_ that he had received the few times he had gone in short sleeves to be reiterated. He had heard quite enough of those while Thomas was in his teen years, hence that little...ahem... _self-destruction_ phase he had gone through. 

It was fortunate for him that scales grew back. 

It was also fortunate for him that, with the new body, his skin was free of any scarring. Mental scarring...well, that was _definitely_ still there, but no physical stuff. Now he had one less thing to worry about as he absorbed the heat from the lamp. He wouldn’t have to hypnotize anyone barging in. Not that he thought anyone _would_ barge in. Well, Patton had sorta did that yesterday, but that was because Deceit couldn’t hear him over his music, and Deceit had fixed that slip-up soon enough. The all-around, general attention on him was fading, and he could have some peace and quiet for once.

Deceit tried not to think about how, the last time he was sunning, enjoying the peace and quiet, he had ended up _dead_.

He was _failing_ at said particular task. 

(Being dead was hard to forget, y’know? And kinda traumatizing, you can't really fault him for that)

He was also failing at squishing that peculiar feeling in his chest that had been growing ever since he had remembered who he was. It felt awfully similar to an emotion...but if it was, certainly wasn’t one he had encountered before.

Deceit growled under his breath, _Stupid_ feelings. _Don’t even have the decency to let me know what they are._

In all honesty (however ironic that may be), Deceit was pretty much on Logan’s side with that whole “fuck emotions” thing. 

(Although...Logan may be taking things a _bit_ too literally with the way he looked at Patton. The logical side never could tell metaphor from reality.)

Ships aside, the new emotion in Deceit’s chest was not one he liked. It felt...bad. Like, almost lonely, but a more...disconcerting type, as if he had moved a potted plant, and then turned to water it, and then it’s not there. Not that potted plants were all that _important_ to him, but hopefully you get the idea.

The door slammed open, revealing a very excited-looking Remus. Deceit raised his head in alarm. He was immediately reminded of the _very_ important fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

The two sides stared at each other for a long, frozen moment.

“Oh!” Remus yelped abruptly, voice about two octaves higher than normal, “Uh, I guess you’re busy right now!”

Deceit nodded, opening his mouth, but only a frantic hiss coming out because holy _shit_ Remus was _right there_ and Deceit _wasn’t wearing a shirt._

“Okay! I have to leave now!” Remus said frantically, almost maniacally, “Chest—I mean, _just_ checking in!”

And with that, Remus slammed the door, leaving the panicked—and still shirtless—Deceit.

####    
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I remember writing this...it was like....in December? November? Idk but it was four am and I was laughing until I couldn’t breath and yeah I was really sleep deprived and I’m kinda surprised I kept the last part but I’m posting it so y’all gotta see it with your eyes now. My apologies. (I’m never going to recover from that last line lol but I won’t change it bc I’m TIRED)
> 
> Oh also I made up these room placements on the spot I have no idea what I was doing but we’re going with it I guess but don’t be surprised if it suddenly changes. Blame it on the mindscape’s fluidity. If you got any questions, ask me because I do, indeed, most definitely, absolutely have answers probably.
> 
> Oh! Also, Patton has always done the rat-tat-*tat* thing when knocking. You don’t know why you need this information.


	18. Realizations of Several Different Kinds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huehuehuehuehue

Remus careened into Roman’s room, flopping onto his brother’s carpet as soon as he slammed the door.

“I am _very_ gay.” Was the first thing Remus said, the itchy carpet muffling his words.

“...and you just figured that out _now_ _?”_ Roman asked, spinning around in his chair to look at Remus.

Remus let out an inarticulate groan into the carpet.

Roman sighed resignedly, “What did Dee do _now?”_

“ _Shirtless,_ Roman!” Remus cried, looking up from the carpet, “I saw him _shirtless!”_

Roman squinted at his twin, “You’re... blushing?” As Remus sat up and brought his hands to his flushed face, Roman continued, and incredulous look on his face, “Remus, I have seen you read _smutty fics_ with an absolutely _straight_ face, and yet the _moment_ you see _one guy_ without a shirt, you’re suddenly a flustered mess?”

Remus sat back on his heels, hands still to his face as he registered the Gay Panic™️, “Yeah, but this is _Deceit.”_ He hissed.

“Dee,” Roman corrected.

Remus winced, “They look the _same!_ They both have scales!”

“So what,” Roman asked, “you got some kind of scale kink?”

“Bitch, _Deceit_ is my kink.” Remus retorted, but then his expression fell, and Remus flopped back down on the ground, the seemingly ever-present tears pricking at his eyes, “I just miss him.”

Roman sighed and got off his chair to sit down next to him, “Yeah,” he said simply, “we all do.”

Remus swiped at his eyes, “Did you know,” he started, “that before... all this, I’d never even seen him without sleeves? I was lucky if I saw him without his gloves or hat.”

Roman snorted, “Are we in Victorian England now? Are you going to start yelling about his ankles next?”

Remus put his hand up to his reheating face, “ _Fuck_ , if I saw his _ankle—_ ”

Roman broke off into a peal of laughter, “ _Seriously_?” Remus’s twin shouted, “His _ankle_? _Really?_ ”

“I’ve never seen his ankle before!” Remus said defensively.

“Never?” Roman cackled.

_“Never!”_

“Holy _shit_ ,” Roman wiped his eyes, still laughing, “my brother, the hornyest, most slutty thing in the mindscape, gets flustered at the thought of an _ankle._ ”

Remus punched him in the shoulder from where he was laying down, “Shut up.” He said, “bet you’d be just as bad as me if you saw _Virgil_ without his shirt.”

Roman didn’t comment.

— — —

Deceit was currently in the process of freaking out.

Firstly, Remus had seen him without his shirt.

Secondly, _Remus had seen him without his shirt._

And... thirdly, by now, it had been _far_ too long to blame the thundering of his heart on surprise, and he was pretty sure that the warmth gathering on one side of his face wasn’t from the heat lamp, seeing as he had turned it off.

And, well… that little annoying emotion had decided to jump around in his chest, making Deceit clench his hands tightly. With a mounting horror, Deceit realized what that emotion was.

He… he _missed_ Remus.

Immediately, Deceit was trying to convince himself otherwise (like the liar he was). Of _course_ he didn’t miss Remus! Remus was loud, and annoying, and disturbing, and he never brushed his teeth. He was an idiot! There was no way Deceit _missed_ him. How many times had Deceit wished for a break from Remus? To be rid, if only for ten minutes, from the constant nagging and prodding? Remus was _awful!_

For starters, he smelled bad, sweet enough to turn the stomach, with just a hint of something rotten mixed in there, and the ever-present stench of iron from the suspicious stains on his clothing. His voice got irritably higher when he was anxious or excited, and he played with his mustache constantly, to the point that Deceit had to rein himself in from slapping Remus’s hand away from his face. He did _unspeakable_ things with even more unspeakable _things_. And not only that, Remus was brutally honest, which, true, Deceit _kinda_ admired, but that was the exact opposite of all that he stood for! And it was _incredibly_ _annoying_ that Remus was the only one warm enough to _really_ dispel the cold that Deceit couldn’t seem to get rid of! Do you know how _inconvenient_ that was? To have to cling to a stinky, smelly side to _finally_ feel safe in your own skin?

Whenever Remus got upset, Deceit always had to seek him out so he wouldn’t dig his fingers into his arms, which he seemed to do to a worrying amount. Remus sang off key _just_ to annoy Deceit, and when Virgil had been around, he would _constantly_ provoke the side into a fight or chase around the mindscape. Remus always got that aggravating, _dumbass_ grin whenever he got a rise out of Deceit, and he’d do that little idiotic _shimmy_ when trying to wheedle something out of Deceit. 

Sometimes, Remus would just say things that were so unbelievably _stupid_ that Deceit could never find a way to answer. The complete _imbecility_ of whatever statement Remus just said would completely short-circuit his mind, and Deceit could only stare in absolute _incredulity_ as Remus did that _ludicrous_ giggle—

Deceit froze mid-rant.

_Oh._

He clenched the edge of the rock under him with shaking hands.

_Oh_ fuck.

— — —

Logan watched Dee closely the next day at breakfast. The newly-formed side’s behavior was _vastly_ different than what it was the previous day. Dee was particularly jumpy today, and Logan didn’t miss the trembling of his hands when he passed Remus a cup of coffee.

Actually, Remus was acting odd, as well. He still was up to his usual shenanigans and teasing, but absolutely none of it was pointed at Dee. It was as if he was ignoring him, which Remus only did if he was mad. (He almost never addressed Patton or got him into any sort of conversation anymore) But Logan was hesitant to assume Remus was aggravated at Dee in any way.

It was obvious that the repugnant side struggled with the appearance of the Dee a great deal. They all did. It had been rather jarring when Dee acquired his scales. Even _Logan_ had thought it was Deceit for a moment, but then Patton had frantically explained that he had mentioned snakes. They had better refrain from making anymore connections to Deceit before Dee became something he wasn’t supposed to be.

(Logan recalled his offer to lend Dee some of his psychology books. He swallowed a worm of fear from rising up as he desperately hoped that Dee had forgotten his proposition.)

(Virgil glanced his way, brows furrowing in concern, but Logan gave him a little reassuring smile and shook his head slightly. Best not to worry the already on-edge side as much as possible.)

Dee’s eyes flicked to him, and then back down to his plate.

A couple minutes later, Dee excused himself from the table, quietly putting his coffee cup and plate in the sink before heading off in the direction of his room. Logan noticed how his pace picked up as he passed Remus, and he saw Remus freeze as Dee’a leather jacket brushed against the back of his chair. Logan’s eyes narrowed in thought as Roman discreetly patted his arm in a comforting gesture.

Interesting.

— — —

Deceit hadn’t been any form of “chill” since yesterday.

He wasn’t going to think about it.

He wasn’t going to think about how yesterday he had realized he had missed Remus’s stupid, _idiotic_ cackle. He wasn’t going to think how he actually wished to have Remus constantly popping up with yet another grotesque fact, or idea of a new monster he was going to make as Deceit worked out new debates at his desk. He wasn’t going to think about how much he missed his burning warmth. He wasn’t going to think about how his heart clenched was he remembered the pain in Remus’s face as he fell fro—

He _wasn’t_ going to think about it.

Breakfast had been hard. Deceit had tried his hardest to ignore Remus (because _no_ he was _not_ going to confront or _think_ about _any_ feelings _whatsoever),_ and he was pretty sure that the normally loud side had done the same. Remus wasn’t usually the type to ignore an embarrassing situation like, y’know, seeing your ~~former~~ friend _shirtless_ — but what did Deceit know? If Remus could somehow be _coerced_ into _betraying_ the man he had lived with for his whole goddamn _life_ , then honestly, Deceit could believe anything.

The worst part is much happier he seemed. Happier with this bleached, memoryless rip-off of him. 

~~(Was Remus happier, or had Deceit never cared enough to pay attention before?)~~

~~(Dammit, why did he feel so _guilty_ about everything? He was so _tired_ of feeling guilty.) ~~

Deceit could tell that Logan had been watching him as he ate. Was the ever-observant side on to him? (Deceit’s hands were absolutely _not_ shaking at the thought.) It didn’t surprise him. Logan had always been top-notch at seeing things that didn’t want to be seen. To be honest, Deceit was surprised that Logan didn’t get suspicious earlier. When Deceit had been disguised as Patton, he hadn’t even lasted half an hour. Virgil was out of commission suspicion-wise, because of the lie Deceit had fed him, but he had done no such thing to Logan.

Well, perhaps that had to change soon.

Deceit huffed and laid on his stomach underneath the heat lamp. (Fully clothed. He wasn’t going to make _that_ mistake again.)

Everything was so _boring_ without having to write up a debate, or finding creative ways to escape Remus. What did the rest of the sides do all day? Play on their phones? Sleep? Partake in an actual, non-threatening, non-manipulative conversation with each other and Thomas?

How _bland._

Well, they _had_ played video games that one day, when Thomas had decided to relax a bit. That had been decent. But one little gaming session wasn’t enough to stave off the heavy presence of boredom.

If only he could have his books back…

Deceit’s eyebrows furrowed as a thought hit him, and he rolled into a sitting position on his rock. On the first day, Logan had offered to show him psychology books, right? He hadn’t realized that the nerd had been into that stuff, but it was a boon that he was. It probably wasn’t wise to ask for those when Logan was suspicious about him, but he could always implant a lie into him.

(Well, technically it wasn’t very _healthy_ for Deceit to do that on a regular basis…)

(Whatever.)

Now that the idea was implanted into his head, Deceit couldn’t get it out, his fingers seemed to itch as he imagined turning the pages of those books, getting himself familiar with them and smelling the sweet smell of old books. He longed to get into that zone where you’re reading so hard that the world seems to disappear and it was only you and the information and _stuff_ that you were gathering and storing in your brain, until you could lay it out for everyone to see in a debate or infodump it to your friend while you both watched some low-quality horror movie while downing a bottle of white wine. _That_ zone, y’know? Something absolutely _everybody_ can relate to. _Obviously._

  
As the hours ticked by, the desire to grab a book from Logan just grew. He should probably get this over with and ask for one. If Logan got suspicious, then Deceit would _zap_ him with a lie and he wouldn’t be suspicious anymore. He should probably implant a lie into him anyways, if the logical side _was_ onto him. Better safe than sorry, amiright?

With a sigh, Deceit got up and prepared himself for the coming confrontation. 

— — —

Logan was at his desk, doing… whatever he had been doing these days. His work had seemed to blur together into mundanity ever since Deceit died. Was he doing taxes? Homework from ten years ago? Something with math, surely. It helped clear his brain.

Logan sighed and ran his hand through his hair. Whatever he was doing didn’t even matter. They didn’t _have_ taxes in the mindscape! He whisked away the papers on the desk into his trash can, and they immediately slotted themselves neatly inside, folding so there could be room for the next onslaught of tree-based writing material. (Logan hadn’t thrown out his trash since 1998.)

(Synonyms of “clean”: immaculate, trim, sparkling, hygienic, graceful, orderly, spotless, tidy, blank, neat, simple, _perfect.)_

Logan stood up and stretched, joints popping. His mind drifted back to the abnormalities in Dee’s behavior. Should he confront him, and ask if anything was the matter? Or would that be prying? If Remus had gone too far with his crude mannerisms, then Logan should most definitely apologize for the former dark side and restrict him from doing so again. It would not do to make the new side uncomfortable in his second week in, now would it?

A knock sounded at the door.

Logan turned. That wasn’t Patton’s knock, and it wasn’t anywhere near dinnertime. Hmmm.

He opened the door.

“Oh, hello, Dee.” Logan said, mildly surprised, “I was actually thinking about coming to talk to you.”

Dee didn’t look surprised, “Well, speak of the devil and he will appear, right?” 

Logan blinked as he let Dee in, “While I do see that the devil had been depicted as a snake in many works of literature, I highly doubt that you are a devil.”

Dee sighed, “It was an idiom, Logan.”

“Ah,” Logan adjusted his glasses, “I see. Is this one that I should write down on a notecard?”

Dee sauntered into the room. It was odd, to see him at the moment. Dee was holding himself much differently from what he normally did, much like—

“No.” Dee interrupted his train of thought, “This idiom isn’t slang. It’s an old saying from the sixteenth century. I thought _you_ of all people would know their history, Logan.”

Logan turned sharply at Dee’s sarcastic drawl, wondering why he suddenly felt threatened, “I am not well-versed in the art of metaphors and idioms.” He said stiffly.

Dee _tske_ d and stood by his bookshelves. Namely, _Deceit’s_ old bookshelf. Logan felt a spike of fear bury itself in his stomach, “...what are you doing?” He asked. It came out sharper than he intended. Dee’s shoulders tensed a fraction.

“Just looking at your books.” Dee’s voice was deceptively light as he trailed his fingers over the covers, “You _did_ say I could take a look at them, no?”

“Well—yes,” Logan stammered out. He _had,_ but how was he to explain to Dee that he wanted to reconsider his offer?

Dee paid no attention to Logan’s distress. He looked... puzzled.

“These are... _mine?”_ He muttered under his breath.

Logan couldn’t think of a reply. His mind was doing a complete roundabout, trying to wrap itself around the implications of Dee’s actions. It wasn’t—it _couldn’t_ be… 

Dee glanced at him, then straightened with a huff, “Okay, might as well get it done now.” He muttered to himself, then he said in a louder, more annoyed voice to Logan, “Well? Why do you have that look on your face? You haven’t figured it out yet?” He smirked, “You’re getting _slow,_ Logan.”

Logan’s hands trembled, “ _You—_ ” his voice shook before his jaw slammed shut, his teeth making a sharp _click_ against each other. His limbs froze where they were.

“Ah ah _ah,”_ the side in front of him said teasingly, stepping forward and tapping the bottom of his chin, “I’ve been keeping my mouth shut for _far_ too long. That gets tiresome after a while, even for _me_ . Now is _your_ turn to shut up.”

_You’re dead_ , Logan wanted to say, _You’re dead. You can’t_ be _here._

Was this some hallucination? A lucid dream? For a fleeting moment, Logan entertained the idea that he was going to have his own rendition of _A Christmas Carol._ But that was absurd. It was nowhere _near_ Christmastime.

Deceit—if it was very well Deceit and not his ghost—chuckled darkly, “You look confused. Are you surprised that I, the _literal embodiment_ of lies, finally saw through yours? Honestly,” Deceit’s tone turned bitter, “you’d think that people would expect more of me.”

The gears in Logan’s mind whirled, his thoughts flying faster than Remus on a sugar high, _He’s alive— amnesia? Patton was right, shouldn’t have lied—does he think that we kept his identity from him on purpose? Who am I kidding, he probably does—what’s he going to do now? Does he know he died? Why didn’t he_ tell _us?_

Deceit observed Logan with a critical eye, “You look like you’re thinking a mile per minute,” he observed.

Logan strained against his own jaw, willing it to loosen so he could speak. He managed to open his mouth just long enough to croak out a pleading, “Why?” Before it snapped shut again.

Deceit stiffened, and he glared at Logan with a fire hot enough to burn, _“Why?”_ He echoed, “You’re asking _me_ why? _I_ should be the one asking that! For instance, I could ask why _you all_ have decided to hold my _Purpose_ from me!” Deceit’s voice rose to a shrill point, and his fists clenched tight.

_We didn’t know._ Logan wanted to say, _We didn’t know you could come back— I thought you were just a copy— this was for_ Thomas’s _sake!_

His internal pleading did nothing to erase the rage painted across Deceit’s face.

“And you guys say _I’m_ the villain,” the side in front of him spat, his hands clenched at his sides.

Logan strained against his locked limbs, struggling to open his mouth again. His lips parted with difficulty, and he jumped at the chance to try to explain himself, “P...Pa...ton.” He forced out, then his jaw was forced shut again, painfully, this time.

_Patton said something like this would happen_. Logan wanted to finish. But, it was too late. His teeth seemed to be glued together now.

“Patton?” Deceit echoed, taking a step backwards, caught off guard. For a split second, Logan thought he saw fear behind those heterochromic eyes. 

Then, the snakelike side let loose a wild, piercing laugh, doubling over slightly, _“_ _Patton!_ This was _his_ idea, wasn’t it? He didn’t want me to remember who I was, because I’m _bad,_ right? Maybe—maybe he wanted me to find a _new_ Purpose! The _gall_ of that man! How _absurd!”_

An odd expression passed across Deceit’s face, and his chuckles slowed, “Did he threaten to throw Remus in subconscious if he told me?”

Logan was already shaking his head, _No, you misunderstood! Patton didn’t do any of those things!_

Logan realized his mistake as Deceit’s eyes widened, and the snakelike side took another step back, “What?” He said softly, disbelievingly.

Logan shook his head harder, _No!_ Shit. _No! That’s not what I meant!_

Deceit paid no attention to him, “Oh.” He said to himself. He sounded...hurt. _Broken._

Deceit’s eyes locked on him, anger and rage gone, leaving only a heart-wrenching sadness. 

The last thing Logan saw was Deceit’s tear-filled eyes glowing a bright yellow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Logan’s really fun to write tbh. Who’s lovin the miscommunication?
> 
> Also REMUS IS DEMIROMANTIC AND I WILL STAND BY THAT HEADCANNON UNTIL I DIE
> 
> And yes, Deceit is morosexual


	19. Of Mistakes and Memories and Sudden Enemies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo BOY I am excited for you guys’ responses to this! hehehehe this was preeetty fun to write.
> 
> Also, some disturbing imagery when it gets to Remus’s point of view? Like, more so than usual? Idk if it’s worth mentioning but you can’t be too careful.

Dee didn’t come to dinner that night.

Patton said the snakelike side had texted him, claiming that he had some “snake stuff” to do, but Roman felt like Dee just didn’t feel like going to dinner.

Well, that was fine. How many times had Roman pretended to be busy with a quest or something so he could have some alone time? Missing dinner for a day or two ~~or four~~ wasn’t _that_ big of a deal. Dee could skip out if he wanted to.

Also, Dee being in his room gave them some time to talk. 

“I just want to say,” Roman said into the semi-silence of the room, “kudos to all of you for not having a breakdown while he was in the room.”

Virgil set down his fork with a quiet _clink_ , “Logan,” he said slowly, “how long do we have to keep this up?”

Logan sighed, “I...don’t know.” He said, “We have no idea when his Purpose is going to show up. And we can’t risk bringing anything up before then, or…” Logan paused, then ended lamely, “yeah.”

Beside Roman, Remus was clenching the tablecloth, his sharp nails piercing the thin plastic. Roman would have to fix that later.

That table fell silent again. Patton’s fork scraped the plate loudly and he gave a muted apology.

“ _Arrgh_!” Next to Roman, Remus slammed his hands down on the table. Everyone started in alarm, but Remus continued, “I can’t _stand_ having to see _him_ all day! He— he even _looks_ like him! Fuck, half the time he even _sounds_ like him!” Remus wilted, and Roman could hear the sob in his voice, “But he’s _not._ He’s _not_ _him_.”

(Roman remembered Remus standing in his doorway, spitting out the words, “Deceit would never be so _nice.”_ And his heart sank in sympathy for his brother.)

“Why do you miss him so much?” Logan’s voice pierced the silence that followed.

Roman looked up towards the semi-robotic side, aghast. Surely he hadn’t _really…_

“Ex _cuse_ me?” Virgil stood up sharply, his chair scraping back. His eyes turned a deep black, and Roman could _feel_ the anger radiating off of him.

“You heard me.” Logan replied evenly, “Deceit was very malicious in nature, and he was no doubt emotionally abusive to both of you. So, I ask again: Why do you miss him so much?”

“He _wasn’t abusive!”_ Virgil shouted, his voice distorting at the end of his sentence. The anxious side’s nails dug into the tablecloth as he growled lowly at Logan.

“You left, didn’t you?” Logan responded quietly, “Because he did something iniquitous.”

Virg stiffened, “We had a _disagreement._ ” He hissed, “And I _overreacted.”_ His eyes flicked towards Remus, then back to Logan, “And I’ve _apologized_ since.”

“Did you apologize because you were sorry, or because Deceit died?”

_Bam!_

Roman blinked from where his chair had tipped over. Remus was standing above him, panting hard, outfit spattered with red, and his face painted with the bright colors of rage.

As Roman peeled his cheek from the floor, he heard Logan sigh, and he got to his feet just in time to see Logan run his hand over his caved-in skull, healing the shattered bone and broken skin. The logical side calmly set Remus’s morning star next to his chair.

“Care to explain why you suddenly decided to bludgeon me on the head?” The logical side asked dryly.

“You _don’t_ talk about him that way.” Remus growled. Roman could see him literally trembling with rage.

Logan adjusted his glasses, “Neither of you have answered my question.”

Remus growled, and Roman stepped forward and grasped his brother’s elbow to stop him from lunging at Logan again.

“Of course,” Logan continued, “I do see how you two could have survivors’ guilt, therefore making it hard to move on. Or, perhaps, before he died, you underwent something akin to Stockholm’s Syndrome, you two did live with him for quite some time…”

“What’s gotten _into_ you?” Virgil demanded.

“Nothing has ‘gotten into me’, as you so state it.” Logan replied, “I am just curious as to why you two are mourning such _villainous_ si—”

Several things happened at once.

Remus _slammed_ a suddenly summoned knife into the table, right in front of Logan’s resting hands. Virgil sprouted spider legs and fangs, and hissed with a ferocity Roman was glad to not have directed at him. Roman himself put a hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to break up the two ex-dark sides if they decided to attack Logan.

“ _Fuck you!”_ Virgil screamed at Logan, whose calm expression had changed to one of disgruntled uncomfortableness.

At the same time, Remus growled dangerously, “If you _dare_ say another _fucking_ word—”

Logan sighed roughly and adjusted his glasses as if they had insulted his mother, “I’m just saying—”

“Logan, I don’t think you’re being fair—” Roman started, and within seconds they were all fighting to be heard over one another.

“—not allowed to _say_ that—”

“—you all are being _very_ unreasonable—”

“I’ll _fucki—”_

“—weren’t acting like this before—”

“— _ng kill_ you if you say that _—_ ”

“—what happened?”

“—what would you say if that were _me_ , huh? Would you—”

_Sniffle._

Everyone stilled.

_Sniffle. Sniffle. Snrrk._

Patton was crying.

“Do you— _snrk—_ really th-th-think that?” Patton asked. The normally happy side had tears running down his cheeks, and he futilely wiped some away with his cardigan sleeve.

“Patton…” Roman said softly, reaching out a hand as if he could take all the sadness from Patton.

“D-do you re-rea-really think he’s b-bad?” Patton sobbed out.

Logan’s gaze had softened with sympathy, but other than that, and a confused tone, Logan replied as bluntly as before, “Yes… I thought this was established some time ago.”

“But _why?_ ” Patton sobbed out, “Who decided?”

“He did,” Logan responded immediately, “with his own actions.”

“But we—I-I- _I—_ s-sa-said he was bad b-be _fore_ he act-te-ted like it!” Patton argued, wiping away tears with his palm, “Wh-who decided _that?_ ”

Logan’s eyebrows furrowed, “Well, I suppose society did. No one likes being lied to.”

( _But that was Deceit’s whole_ thing, _wasn’t it?_ Roman realized, _To break free from the cages—and expectations— society has put around us.)_

“B-but th-that doesn’t make be— _h-h-snnhn—_ being mea-mean to him g- _good_!” Patton protested.

“I don’t understand,” Roman said, looking back and forth between the two, “what are you talking about? I thought we were…” he trailed off as everyone looked at him.

“I forgot that you don’t remember,” Logan turned towards him, expression unreadable, “It was before the King split.”

_Oh._

Roman exchanged a quick glance with his brother. It wasn’t often they talked about the time before the Split. 

“That means…” Roman glanced at Patton for conformation, “It was before fourth grade?”

“In the m-middle of— _snnk—_ of th-th-third.” Patton sniffed out.

“Damn,” Virgil said, spider legs twitching with surprise, “that was before _I_ formed.”

Patton nodded tearily, “I-it was j-just— _snnk—_ just th-th-the four of us.”

“A little bit after Deceit’s Purpose was revealed, Patton made him retreat to the same place Remus was put.” Logan said matter-of-factly. 

Patton heaved out a great sob, crying too hard to form complete sentences. He presumably tried to explain himself, but all that came out was, “I-I-I _th-th-th-thought-t—_ ”

Before he knew it, Roman was at Patton’s side, “Hey, _hey_ ,” he said comfortingly, “we’ve _all_ made mistakes. It’s alright, Pat.”

(Roman felt Virgil’s eyes on him, and his heart clenched as he remembered that terrible Junior High day.)

Patton’s body was racked with a sob, “ _No,_ it’s-t’s _not_!” He protested, wiping his eyes under his glasses, “D-deceit wo-would _be_ here if-f it was!”

Roman couldn’t think of anything to say, but Virgil cut in for him, “Patton… that’s not true.”

“ _Yes it is!_ ” Patton yelled, and Roman couldn’t suppress his little jump of surprise, “Ev-everyone made _assumptions_ because of—because of _me,_ what _I_ s-said, and i-it m-m-made him—” Patton broke himself off with a sob, “h-he…” he couldn’t continue, his breath coming in shaky little bursts, and sobs ripping out of him hard enough to sound like it hurt.

Roman wrapped his arms around the side’s shaking form, and Patton immediately clung to him, clutching the back of his shirt and sobbing with gusto into his chest. Roman ran his fingers through Patton’s hair, as if to comb away all the doubt and guilt cobwebbing through his mind.

“I’m not sure I understand,” Logan said uncertainly, “I thought Deceit was bad.”

“Since when does bad mean not worth _basic human decency?_ ” Virgil shot at Logan, “And if _he’s_ bad, what does that make _Remus_ ?” He faltered, “What does that make _me_?”

Logan looked bewildered, and he just blinked in surprise, reconsidering, “...no,” He said finally, “You’re not— _he’s_ not—”

“I’m _done_ with this conversation.” Virgil snapped, and shoved his chair as he stepped away from the table, making it fall with a _thunk_ to the ground, “I don’t know why you decided to be a cold hearted, unfeeling _jerk_ , but I am _out_ of here.”

And with that, the spiderlike side stormed off, taking Remus, who had been staring in surprise at Patton, by the elbow and dragging him off, “Come with me,” Virgil said, voice growly and dark with distortion, “I think we _both_ have to let loose some steam.”

Patton’s head shot up as he heard the two leaving, “Wait!” He cried out, twisting and extending a hand towards them, “Remus!” 

Remus’s head swiveled towards Patton, expression muted.

“I-I’m s-s-sorry,” Patton bawled out, pleading, “I-I-I’m _so_ s-s-s-s—” a sob cut him off.

Remus pressed his lips together, and gave a quick, short nod, blinking hard. Patton relaxed, leaning back onto Roman’s chest as he hiccuped, his jaw trembling.

Virgil tugged on Remus’s arm, and Roman’s brother turned around and followed him up the stairs. 

— — —

Remus stepped into Virgil’s room as the side jumped onto his bed, screaming into a pillow. (Perhaps he’d scream so hard that his throat would give out—or perhaps he’d accidentally spit out his tongue. Wait, not now, Remus, don’t get sidetracked—)

“Just who does he think he is?” Virgil ranted as soon as he came up for air (what if he didn’t and just suffocated? Then there’d be a dead dead body in the dead dead room with the scary air and dark dark gloom—oh wait, he just rhymed! Hehe! Oh! Virgil’s still talking), “Who said he could just _suddenly_ decide who’s good and who’s bad? He’s never cared before! We _literally_ had a conversation about this _four_ months ago!”

~~Four months ago was when~~

“I can knock his head off!” Remus offered, his own anger boiling underneath his skin (what if he _actually_ was boiling alive?). _No one_ talked about Deceit that way.

~~Not him never him _touch him and you’ll die_ I thought Logan was _good_ they’re never good what was I thinking mean mean mean ~~

Virgil’s spider legs tore at a purple cobweb-patterned pillow, “No,” he growled, “It wouldn’t even _phase_ Logan. You _know_ how he is.”

~~I _thought_ I did he treated me like a person I thought he _liked_ Deceit not anymore I guess was it all a lie? ~~

Remus nodded, “Yup. He’s a butthole!”

Virgil snorted, his spider legs twitching with the action, “Well, you’re not wrong.”

(Remus was happy.)

(Well, not at Logan. And not with Deceit gone. But he was getting along with Virgil! Deceit would have liked that. And so did Remus. So, Remus was happy.)

Virgil’s expression changed as he sighed(uh oh), and he sat up and patted the bed next to him. Remus sat down.

“Now that I got all the screaming out of my system, what about you?” Virgil asked, (even though he was still visibly upset) “You’ve been strangely quiet compared to what you _usually_ do.”

Remus stared at his hands, wiggling his fingers and watching his nails reflect the light from Virgil’s lamp, “I have a lot of feelings.” He said quietly.

“So? Spill.” Virgil told him, flopping down on his blankets with a soft _phwump,_ his spider legs retracting as he did so, “You’ve never been one to hold back. Scream if you want. _Vent._ It’s a coping mechanism.”

Remus flopped down on Virgil’s blankets as well, staring up at his cobwebbed ceiling, “I wanna hit Logan with my mace.” He mumbled to it, “I wanna hit his head and watch his brains fly. I wanna pull his hair out and make him eat it. I wanna get into a fight with him—a _dirty_ fight. I wanna break his limbs and claw my fingers through his face and punch his face and make them _bleed._ ” Remus’s hands clenched, “I wanna take Logan’s intestines and bake them into the shape of a pretzel and make him _eat_ it.”

Remus swallowed as the words started to come faster, curling up on his side and bringing his arms up to hug himself, “I wanna stab my brother with a knife and watch the blood drip from it. I want to shoot an arrow through a guy’s _ear._ I want to lick the inside of a telescope. I wanna eat uncooked meat.”

“I wanna see how many times I can break my spine in one minute. I want to eat a mouse alive and feel it’s ribs break inside my throat. I want to—I wanna _hurt_ someone. To feel bones break under my hands. I—I want _blood_ —” 

Remus choked on the words crowding to escape his mouth. There were so _many_ , all at once, “I-I wanna rip Logie’s head off and yeet it into the snow so I can see the blood against the white—red snow like strawberries in the summertime, i-it’d be really bright like syrup, I bet it’d taste good, too. I want to skin someone and wear it like a suit—there a was Doctor Who episode where they did that.”

“I want to see how long it takes for battery acid to burn through my skin. I saw a story once where a girl in a mental hospital swallowed a battery because she was sad and her stomach started feeling hot and she threw up and she barely survived and sometimes I want to do that but Deceit said I _shouldn’t_ so I won’t but he isn’t _here_ and I wanna swallow _ten_ batteries and then throw them all up and maybe I’d eat them again I don’t care I just want to _hurt_ because he’s _gone_ and _I couldn’t do anything to help.”_

He was breathing hard. Virgil’s hands were on his hands, preventing him from digging his fingers into his forearms.

Remus couldn’t talk anymore. He didn’t _want_ to talk anymore.

Virgil’s breath _puff_ ed against Remus’s forehead as he sighed, and Remus blinked up to look at him, energy spent.

“I thought Deceit told you not to keep it all in.” Virgil scolded reproachfully, letting go of Remus’s hand to flick him in the forehead, “You can’t repress your thoughts, ‘else they’ll just stick in there and get bigger and fester.”

Remus avoided eye contact with Virgil, glancing down, “‘Didn’t mean for it to get this bad,” he mumbled, “...Jus’ don’t like it when you guys frown at me like that. All disappointed and judgy and like you’re tired of my shit.”

The bed shifted at Virgil winced, “Sorry.”

“ ‘s fine.” Remus said tiredly.

“No it’s not.” Virgil returned, “We all agreed that there would be no more separation. We all should be trying to accept and include everyone.”

Remus glanced back up at Virgil, “Damn, have Roman and Patton have made you _soft?”_ He asked incredulously.

Virgil side-shrugged as best as he could while laying in his side, and gave a sheepish grin, flushing slightly, “It’s not so bad.” He said, “Maybe you’ll try it out someday.”

Remus let loose a wild giggle at the thought, spirits lifting a tad. Him? _Soft?_ The light sides must have made Virgil insane, too.

Virgil chuffed out another laugh, sitting up with a grin at Remus, “It’s more likely than you might think!” He protested, still grinning, “They managed to do it to this angsty mess, didn’t they?”

Remus sat up as well, propping himself up with his arms, “Hey, if I go soft, would I start rotting? And maybe I’d get all mealy and get worms! Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Virgil grimaced, “For you, it _definitely_ would be.”

Remus grinned.

There was a small silence in Virgil’s room, the two occupants content to just sit in silence, happy to be in one another’s good graces again.

“By the way,” Virgil started, “you never actually did what I said when I told you to vent. Like, I’m glad you got that all out, but,” — and here Virgil twisted to flick Remus’s forehead again “you gotta get it _all_ out. I _know_ you got _something_ to say about Logan spewing that bullshit besides _vengeance.”_

Remus frowned, “I’m… angry at him. He’s never been mean to Deceit before.”

Virgil nodded, “I know, right? He’s usually at _least_ civil to him.”

Remus picked at his pants with one hand, “But that’s not what’s bugging me right now.” 

“Oh?” Virgil prompted.

“Patton…” Remus looked up at Virgil, feeling conflicted, “Patton _apologized_ to me.”

Virgil furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, “But… he apologized before, didn’t he?”

Remus clenched his fists, “Yeah, but that was when he _had_ to. It didn’t mean _shit._ But this one… _did._ And I… don’t know how to react.”

“You’re not used to being apologized to,” Virgil said, nodding, “I remember when I, uh, when something kinda big happened, they all ganged up to apologize and stuff, and it was really, _really_ uncomfortable. How are you supposed to accept any sort of apology? Like… I always worry that one of us is going to burst into tears? Do people _actually_ apologize on a regular basis?”

Remus pressed his lips together, “I would every day, if it meant I could… if I could bring him back.”

“Remus…” Virgil set his hand in Remus’s arm, “You gotta stop blaming yourself, you know. I _know_ you do.”

“You’re one to talk.” Remus snarked back.

Virgil didn’t take to bait, eyeing him calmly. 

“You loved him.”

It wasn’t a question.

Remus bit his lip and looked down, nodding, a desperate squeak escaping as he bit back a sob, “I—”

And suddenly he was pressed against Virgil’s chest, his arms wrapped around the other side’s thin frame. Virgil was hugging him, his jacket soft and puffy against Remus’s face, the zipper hard and cold as it pressed against his cheek.

Remus felt Virgil curl protectively around him. There wasn’t anything for his ( _ex-_ ex-)friend to protect him from, but the gesture wasn’t lost on Remus. He _finally_ had another safe place. Where he could be _himself_ again. Virgil _understood_ him. In fact, they were probably the most alike in the mindscape. And Virgil wouldn’t leave again. Finally, after four long months, he _finally_ had someone (someone _other_ than Roman) who was willing to try for him again. 

So, even as Remus was sobbing into Virgil’s jacket, a little worm of hope crawled into his brain. Maybe the future _wasn’t_ as desolate as he thought it would be, if he had a friend in it.

— — —

Patton was currently sobbing into Roman’s shoulder as they both sat where they had collapsed into the floor.

Roman had carried Patton in, and as soon as he kicked the door behind him, the emotional effect had hit him like a bitch slap to the face, and he may or may not have stumbled and fell. But he could take it. It had just… surprised Roman, that’s all. He could barely feel the effects now.

But Patton probably could. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best idea to bring him here, where his emotions could be reflected back and forth like a ray of light so bright it hurt, when he was so worked up, but Roman didn’t want to think about what effect _his_ room would have on Patton in this state.

The parental side was clutching the front of his shirt, his body was racked with uncontrollable sobs. His glasses had fallen off, and were now lying somewhere on the carpet.

Roman could do nothing but try to comfort him in vain, futilely offering comforting shushing noises, uselessly stroking his hair, nothing worked. Well, that wasn’t the end of the world. Everyone had to have their crying scene in the movie, without it one couldn’t see another’s true character. Crying is all about seeing what matters most to the one crying.

_Well, actually, Patton tends to cry a_ lot _. But I guess that means he cares about a lot of things._ Roman reasoned with himself, _Like puppies and nostalgic memories, and dead frien— no, I suppose Pat was never really a_ friend _to any of the Dark Sides… dead coworker, then. Or counterpart! That works. Dead counterparts._

Patton shook in his arms, and Roman mentally kicked himself, _Damn it, no getting sidetracked! Patton needs to be rescued from the dark beast of self-deprecation and doubt! I can do this, just like a story book!_

Roman blatantly ignored the fact that this was real life, and in real life people don’t come back from the dead, not even using a satanic ritual from the murderer’s life force. Not with a tear of true love. Not with threats to the universe itself. 

Reality had always been a great adversary. One he could never, _ever_ hope to conquer.

But he was finding today’s reality hard to believe.

Logan? Siding _against_ Deceit? After he _died?_ For no other reason than he was “bad”? He had _never_ done so before. In fact, Roman had always felt that Logan had low-key _admired_ Deceit. If he ever debated against him, it was because of the logical downsides to Deceit’s argument, never against Deceit _himself._

And… Patton was carrying the weight of a mistake made years ago, and felt it was _his_ fault Deceit had died. 

To be honest, Roman wasn’t sure what to think about what Patton did. He had always kinda known _something_ had had to go down at one point, but he never really thought about any farther than that.

Deceit had just been a _kid…_ seven or eight at the very most, and Roman and Remus had split almost a full year later… Remus had once mentioned Deceit regularly had nightmares of the place they had been orrery much _imprisoned_ in—Patton had probably traumatized Deceit by forcing him to go to… _wherever_ they had been exiled to.

In fact, _Patton_ was the reason there _was_ a Dark Side and Light Side, which he had said made prejudices and all-around hate, which made everyone’s lives miserable, made Thomas miserable, and, in the long run, made Deceit run away from them, to the Dragon Witch, where he... where he died.

It made a cruel, sickening sense.

But… Patton had just been a kid as well. Could seven-year-olds be held responsible for a mistake rooted in well-intent? Sure, Patton had gotten sidetracked on the “well-intent” part and decided that being a good person was more important than being good to yourself (resulting in a paradox where Patton wasn’t a good person _because_ he was a good person…), but _still._

And, if Patton had never exiled Deceit...the differentiation between Dark and Light sides would have never been made… which meant the King would never have been split, and Roman wouldn’t _be_ here right now.

Was it bad to be thankful for a traumatizing incident that resulted in someone’s death?

Well, when you put it that way, of _course_ it was.

But… Roman was _happy_ he existed, as _himself,_ not the _King._

Roman pressed his lips together.

  
  


Patton was still crying.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one:
> 
> Not a single soul:
> 
> Me: LoGAn AdjUsTEd hiS glASsEs 
> 
> Anyways lol this was an... interesting turnout, dontcha think? I wonder what you guys will pick up!


	20. (Ain’t No Rest for the) Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw: some unsympathetic Patton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Money don’t grow on treeees!”  
> (That song’s going to be stuck in my head all day now lol)
> 
> Also, thanks for all the comments on the last chapter! Now, let’s see if all those theories were correct~

They say there ain’t no rest for the wicked, and Deceit was quickly finding that to be true.

He had retired for the night without going to dinner, giving some lie about “snake stuff” which they undoubtedly saw through, but it didn’t really matter. They wouldn’t bug him. If one thing could

be said about the Light Sides, is that they were total pushovers. They’d let you do anything as long as it didn’t cross the lines of their little _rules_.

This is exactly what Deceit had said to Thomas during the callback argument. You get enough people, in this case _six_ , into a room, and — _voilà_!— you have a society, complete with laws, a social hierarchy, and even political parties!

Although, the Light Sides might describe the opposing party as _criminal,_ or perhaps a gang of _fugitives,_ but details, details. Dust in the wind at the end of the day.

The wind was _especially_ dusty today, in light of what Logan had told him.

Remus… Remus hadn’t been threatened at _all_. No bribes to keep him silent, no intimidation tactics to stop Remus from busting down Deceit’s doors to yell Deceit’s memory back into him.

Deceit had had a sneaking suspicion… but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. Well, of _course_ he didn’t. He was Deceit, an expert at lying, the literal _embodiment_ of it. He lied to _everyone._ What kind of liar would he be if he didn’t lie to himself?

Deceit didn’t try to think up the answer.

He blinked at his ceiling as he lay in his bed. A tear rolled snuck out of his eye and down the side of his face, trailing into his hair. He sighed, trying to ignore his headache. He felt like someone had elbowed him in his solar plexus. He probably should have waited longer to enforce a lie onto Logan. Wasn’t healthy to keep on going like this.

After Logan had told him about Remus (he couldn’t think about it for too long; he just—he just _couldn’t),_ Deceit had kinda just… shut down. Well, not physically, but mentally. He had gone into a sort of autopilot, but he had the presence of mind to put him under a lie and all that. 

He had done the whole, “The number of books on Deceit’s old shelf didn’t change.” lie, before he had done the, “I never remembered I was Deceit, because _Deceit_ is _bad_ and _Dee_ is _good,_ you never saw me here,” part.

Because Logan, as Logic, would believe some _logical reasoning_ the most.

And it was true, wasn’t it? The whole, “Deceit’s bad,” part. That’s why Patton had—

Deceit shuddered. No. _No_. He was _not_ going to think about that place. He was _not_. He _wasn’t_ going to spiral down again.

(Because this time, Remus wouldn’t be there to help him back up)

(Because this time, Remus would only push him down further)

  
  
  


(Deceit felt cold.)

(Deceit _always_ felt cold.)

  
  
  


So, yeah, it was true. He was bad. Because Patton said so. And Patton _continued_ to try to squish all the bad out. And he _wouldn’t stop_ until the bad was gone.

Or… until _Deceit_ was.

And really, how could Deceit fault him?

Deceit rolled onto his side, curling up like the pitiful, slimy _,_ evil, _horrid_ snake he was.

The pillow was wet with tears.

— — —

_It was cold._

_It was so, so cold._

_Lying was bleeding._

_Lie was_ bleeding _and he was_ cold _and he was_ scared _and he was_ alone.

_He heard breathing behind him._

_It was getting closer._

_Lying twisted, turning to see—to see that_ thing. _It was dark, but he could see it with his snake eye. It had a cruel heat coming off it, warmth wafting of its too-long face, akin to a snout. He could see what were supposed to be hands—just barely. The tips of the tentacle-like appendages were the same blue as the world around him. The several rat-like tails behind it, too. He couldn’t see its sickly parody of spider legs at all, although he knew from experience they were there, slick with scales, but sharp with needle-like hairs._

_The beast’s saliva dripped a hot red. Its breath puffed out orange in clouds. Lying’s blood ran ice-blue cold. Fear thudded purple throughout Lie’s limbs. Pain flowed black. Black and wet. Black and wet and_ cold.

_Lies took a step back. The beast crouched ever-so-slightly, tentacles waving. Lie took another step back. Then another. Then another._

_And then he was running. He was crying. He was trying to get away. He could hear its galloping behind him. It could get him easily. It knew that he couldn’t escape._

_Because there_ was _no escape. He may manage to wander out of this particular Nightmare’s territory, but there was no way out of the Subconscious. He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t leave and he was_ trapped _and_ alone _and_ alone _and he was so, so scared._

_Maybe after the others forgave him, Mo could make cookies and Lo could give him a blanket and the King could act out a story._

_Well, the King didn’t really hang out with anyone all that much. He had been acting a little weird before Mo had gotten mad at Lie. But maybe when Lying came back, the King would be normal again, and perhaps come out of the Imagination long enough to act out a play. Deceit liked his plays._

_The Nightmare was still behind him, though. And he wasn’t with King, or Lo, or—or Mo. He was all alone. And he deserved to be. Because Mo said he was bad, and Mo was important, and Lo said so too, and Lo knew everything so naturally if they both said it they must both be right. Thomas’s mommy had said lying was bad, and so Lying was in a really, really,_ really _long time-out in the Subconscious, where Thomas’s Nightmares (_ also _bad) were kept. Because bad things went with other bad things where they couldn’t ruin the good things._

_Maybe when Morality said he was good again, he could go back to the warmth and light and everything could be like it was before._

_The Nightmare was still behind him._

_The ground was bumpy._

_Lies tripped._

_Pain spilled out black and fear splattered purple and blue clashed against red and his tears were wet and his blood was wet and_ Lying couldn’t escape.

— — —

Deceit woke up with a strangled cry, sitting straight up on his bed. His eyes flicked around wildly, blood pumping adrenaline to his limbs, brain picking up pain signals that weren’t being sent. His hands clenched the blankets around him as he desperately tried to make sense of where he was. 

Then, after four _long_ seconds of terror, Deceit let go of his breath, his memories flooded back to him in a terrible, crashing wave.

Deceit stumbled out of his bed and into his bathroom, and promptly vomited in the toilet.

After he was done, he sat back from the bowl, and closed the lid with a disgusted noise. _Gross._

Deceit’s head _thunked_ against the wall as he leaned against it, goosebumps prickling along his sweaty skin. He hadn’t had one of those nightmares in a while… or thrown up after in an even longer while.

He… he remembered being “Lying”. He remembered still being utterly _convinced_ by the glamour the authorities put on. He remembered being utterly _devoted_ to Morality, to _Patton,_ and he remembered how he would have done _anything_ Lo would have told him to do, and he remembered being completely in awe of the King, even if he was a little…distant.

Deceit remembered when Patton had forced him into the Subconscious.

—

_Deceit—_ Lying _in this case, had been in a time-out in his room. He had gotten Thomas in trouble. He wasn’t supposed to make Thomas lie. Because lying is bad. And Lying is bad. And Lie got even more time-outs whenever he made Thomas lie._

_Lying didn’t really like that much. He disagreed with Mo and Lo. Thomas_ needed _to lie. What else would he do when he did something bad?_

_But Mo had said that Thomas’s mommy said no lying, so Lie kept his thoughts to himself. He tried not to make Thomas lie often, but there were times when Thomas didn’t listen to Mo, so Lying_ had _to protect him. Even if that meant Lies got into trouble._

_He heard Mo’s knock on the door. A rat-tat-_ tat _beat, the one he always used._

(God, even the _memory_ of that made fear flash through him. How _fucked up_ was he?) 

_Lying perked up excitedly. Had Mo forgiven him? Was he going to unlock the door? Maybe he would even be in a good enough mood to do the movie night he had been talking about a couple days (weeks?) ago! Lie liked movie nights. Even the King showed up to those, when he didn’t have a headache._

_“Lie?” Morality called, “I’m going to come in. We need to talk.”_

_Lying’s heart sank. That wasn’t a good sign._

_Mo creaked open the door and slipped through. He did so quickly, as if he thought Lying would try to escape. He padded over to the bed and sat down, expression solemn as a seven-year-old’s can be._

_“I’ve talked with Logic,” He said, “King didn’t say much, but I talked to him, too. And…” Morality took a deep breath, “We decided you need a really, really,_ really _long time out.”_

_Lying felt his stomach clench, and his eyes widened, “B-but… I_ have _been out in such a long time!”_

_Mo sighed, “And you keep_ lying, _L! You_ know _that when you lie, you get time-outs! And even when you’re in a time-out, you still lie! You make Thomas lie! You_ just _lied_ again, _L! That’s not good! When you lie, Thomas gets in trouble and then he feels bad!” Morality quieted, “It makes_ me _feel bad.”_

_Lying felt his bottom lip tremble as he protested, “Thomas just needs to get better at lying so he doesn’t get caught!”_

_“No!” Morality shot to his feet, hands clenched, bottom lip poking out as he scowled, “That’s not_ right!”

_“You’re_ not _just being a—a_ meanie _!” Lying yelled back, “You_ always _let me do_ anything, _Mo! It’s_ not _like I haven’t been out of my room in eight days!”_

_Morality stamped his foot, “You’re not supposed to lie, L! You have to stop making Thomas lie!”_

_Tiny little baby tears formed at the corners of Lying eyes as he slammed his fists into his bed, “I can’t_ not! _”_

_Morality quieted._

_Lying bit the inside of his cheek._

_The silence was deafening._

_“We need a family meeting.” Morality said, his voice low and dark. Lying’s stomach did little flip-flops and he swallowed in sudden fear._

_Morality squeezed his eyes shut, and suddenly Lying was rising up out of his room, for the first time in over a week. Lie flinched at the sudden light. He hadn’t realized how dark his room had been._

_Logic was reading a book on space on the couch, and Creativity seemed to be arguing with himself —_ again— _as he sat on the floor, switching his crown from one side of his head to the other and he stared into a mirror and mumbled under his breath._

_Morality was next to Lying, “Guys.” He said solemnly, “We need to have an in-por-tant family meeting.”_

_Logic looked up, correcting automatically, “It’s_ im _portant_ , _Morality. But you do have my attention.”_

_Creativity looked up, “Yeah, Mo?” His gaze focused on Lying, and he brightened and jumped to his feet, “Snakey!” He cried, bouncing on his toes._

_Lying waved at him, wanting to run over and hug him, but not sure if Morality would like that very much, “Hi, King.” He said quietly._

_Mo pursed his lips, “Lying has been getting Thomas into trouble,” he announced._

_Logic tried to raise one eyebrow, but ended up having to use his finger to hold one down as he looked critically at Morality, “We_ know, _Morality. Why do you feel the need to tell us this?”_

_Mo stamped his foot, “And he isn’t stopping! No matter how long a time-out he has! He has too much power in his room!”_

_“So what do you think we should do?” Logic asked, “Put him somewhere_ else?”

_Morality nodded once, “Ex-actly. He needs to go somewhere where he can’t make Thomas lie as much.”_

_Lying didn’t like where this conversation was going. He tried to butt in, but Creativity did before he could, interrupting, sounding upset, “Wait, an even_ longer _time-out?” He asked, “But I haven’t been able to play with him in_ ages!”

_Morality wilted a little, sounding dejected as he spoke, “I know. But Thomas isn’t able to play when he gets in trouble, either. Lying has to go.”_

_Lying wanted to cry._

_The King furrowed his eyebrows, looking conflicted. He had been looking conflicted a lot lately._

_“I know where.” Logic said quietly._

_Morality’s head swiveled towards the other bespectacled side, “What?”_

_“I know where we can put him.” Logic said, louder this time, “I—It’s called the—” he stumbled on the word, “—the Subconti—Subconstio—” his eyebrows furrowed for a second, then realization shone through, “Oh! The Subconscious!” Logic looked proud for a moment, but then his expression sobered once he remembered the situation._

_“The Subconscious?” Lying whispered, his voice painted with horror._

_Morality seemed deep in thought, “That place made it hard for me to connect to Thomas…” he mumbled under his breath, and then he nodded decisively, “Okay. That’s good.”_

_Morality turned towards Lying. Lying took a step back. Then another. Then another. Then—_

_“Morality?_ ” _The King...the King sounded weird, in pain, almost_ , “ _What are—what are you—”_

_Creativity doubled over._

_Various shouts of, “King!” could be heard. Lying darted forward, despite his_ _fear_ _apprehension of Morality. Logic caught Creativity by the arm before the side could fall. Lying hovered nervously as Morality ran forward and grabbed the King’s other elbow in concern. The King clutched his head, groaning. He dropped with a_ thunk _to his knees. Mo and Lo knelt down to accommodate him._

_“What is it? What’s wrong?” Logic asked, panic pouring into his voice._

_“H-hurts.” Creativity whimpered, “My head. I—_ we— _” he broke himself off with a cry of pain._

_“Creativity?” Morality half-whispered._

_The King didn’t seem to hear him. Creativity looked up, and Lying made eye contact with him. It might have been the light, but Lie could have sworn that his eyes were two different colors—red and green._

_“N—no…” the King whimpered, “Stop it—you can’t_ —please.”

_Lying took a step back as a wave of uncertainty hit. Was Creativity… did he think that…_ he _was doing this?_

_Morality seemed to have the same thoughts as Lying. His eyes burned into Lie’s._

_“_ You.” _Morality said, voice low and dark with hostility, “_ You’re _doing this.”_

_Lying couldn’t answer. How could he? No matter what he said, Morality would think he was the culprit. His backwards speech was too much for the simple side to understand. All Lying could do was…_

_No. He couldn’t run. Where_ would _he run? There wasn’t anywhere else_ to _run._

_Morality advanced._

_Lying’s bottom lip trembled._

_Morality looked almost sad beneath the tide of anger as he grabbed Lying’s arm. He squeezed, hard enough to hurt as his eyes glared into Lying’s._

_“You’re not—you’re not welcome here anymore.” Morality said as the edges of Lying’s vision crinkled to black, “You’ve done too much to be forgiven.”_

_The light and warmth and family around Lying faded away, and then he was alone, standing in an unknown place, not a spark of light nor warmth to be found, crying._

_And he was so, so alone._

— — —

Deceit woke up with a start. The back of his head slammed into the bathroom wall. He groaned.

His neck hurt, he noted as he got up stiffly from the floor, and his back, too. Perhaps having a flashback on his bathroom floor in front of the toilet wasn’t the best idea.

The pain of the _memory_ hurt more than his _neck_ did.

Deceit sighed as he tried to ignore the perpetual cold that followed him like a ghost. Whelp, looked like another night of staring mindlessly at his phone.

_Joy._

— — —

Logan was confused.

(Logan almost felt like the word “confused” should be a proper noun in that sentence. But that was silly. Even if he was extremely bewildered, that doesn’t give him any reason to make it a proper noun)

(Ah, screw it. He was acting irregular already, might as well go the figurative mile and figuratively bring it full circle.)

(To reinstate his statement earlier, Logan was Confused.)

Actually, he was even more than confused. He was bewildered, muddled, perplexed, stumped, discombobulated, perturbed, abashed, baffled, confounded, disconcerted, puzzled, mystified, and absolutely _flummoxed._

Why was he so confused, you probably didn’t ask? Well, he was confused because he had no idea why Deceit was bad.

It was odd. He _knew_ Deceit was bad. Deceit _was_ bad. The world could end and Logan would still believe that Deceit was bad.

But…

Logan had never really thought Deceit as an enemy before, not even when Patton had forced the former side out, but now… he _did_. Without any reason, Logan completely and utterly believed that Deceit was reprobate. Logan couldn’t wrap his mind around it, metaphorically or otherwise.

Not to mention the fact that he couldn’t even find it in himself to be guilty.

Well, he felt guilty for making Patton sad, of course, and for making Virgil and Remus feel unwelcome and Roman disappointed in him, you needn’t worry about _that._ He had already beaten himself up a dozen times over. He had never really known when to stop pushing an issue, if something this delicate was involved. 

Okay, he had acted like a total _asshole._

(Apparently, in that usage, “asshole” did not actually mean an “ass hole”, so it wasn’t an improper usage of the term.) 

(Virgil had explained it to him over some midnight coffee several nights ago.)

(Even though caffeine is very unhealthy for you and drinking it at such a late time was very detrimental to your health, sleeping pattern, and in turn your work the next day, and therefore your paygrade and therefore your life.)

(He and Virgil had both discussed how bad it was _as_ they did it. Apparently, this hypocrisy was “quality bonding time”, and honestly, Logan would have drank the coffee anyways, so it was nice to have some company.)

(But, he digressed.)

Logan obviously felt guilty about making the others feel distressed and hurt, but what he _wasn’t_ guilty about was believing Deceit had been bad. And the fact that he _wasn’t_ guilty made him feel guilty. 

(And yes, Logan also felt that “bad” should have been a proper noun, but he was not Roman. He did not break the rules —grammar or otherwise— whenever he felt like it.)

(But if he wasn’t going to tell anyone about it, no one would know, so…)

(Sure. Logan felt that Deceit was Bad.)

( _Yes_ , as a proper noun.)

And yet, Logan couldn’t convince himself that the former side was anything less than criminal. You could try any synonym; bad, mean, iniquitous, immoral, wrong, deplorable, reprobate, illegal, corrupt, crooked, or illicit, it _didn’t matter._ Deceit was all of them. Logan felt like the laws of physics could suddenly decide to vanish ~~(like Virgil had tried to do, two years ago)~~ , and he would still believe that Deceit was bad.

But _why_ was he bad?

Logan groaned softly as the surprisingly yellow glow of his lamp lanced pain into his eyes, shooting up into his temples and forehead. He let his head drop with a _thunk_ onto his desk.

To iterate a statement he had thought many, many times by now;

Logan was Confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey...so, some news! I’m taking a small break from writing, because my brain is FRIED.
> 
> Don’t worry not going to affect any of you, since I have 11 weeks stacked up in advance for this exact situation, but I thought it was important to say, because obviously, in the long run, it’s gonna push back the final enddate. I’m writing a very...delicate situation and I don’t want to mess it up, so I’m taking it slow!
> 
> So yeah, no immediate or noticeable effects in the weekly chapters, just thought that you would want to know! Anyways, bye and thanks for reading! You can find me on tumblr at astronomical-bagel! 
> 
> (AlsoImsoproudofthechapternameandtgebeginningandendinglinesdont@me)


	21. Who’s Ready for Some *Holds a Rose in my Mouth and Poses in the Spotlight* Rrrrregret?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell that I had fun with the chapter name? Feelin’ Spicy today, and by that I mean *jazz hands*  
> I want to die!!!! :DDDD
> 
> jk jk I’m fine

Deceit knew something was wrong the moment Patton knocked on his door. 

(The same ol’ rat-tat- _tat_ beat.)

(Deceit’s joints suddenly felt like lead. Had his jacket always felt so tight?)

First of all, Patton didn’t say anything as he knocked, no cheery greeting or cheesy saying about a bright and beautiful day, just a soft knock.

Well, that was fine. Patton was ~~terrifying~~ annoying. The less he said, the better. 

But Deceit couldn’t deny that it was slightly off-putting.

(Actually, he technically _could_ deny that fact. Y’know, _Deceit_ and all. But he didn’t.)

When Deceit opened the door, Patton didn’t even ask about the ‘snake stuff’ he had supposedly been doing last night. Patton wasn’t even at the door. He was already down the hallway, and he was wearing his cat hoodie on properly, wearing it like a normal person, rather than tied around his shoulders. Deceit _knew_ he only did that when he was sad.

Deceit narrowed his eyes.

Logan wasn’t there at breakfast. Roman said something about how the reserved side was busy, but Deceit didn’t even need any magical lie-detector to know _that_ was a falsehood. For the great actor he claimed to be, Roman was a god-awful liar.

It was quiet at the table, not the kind of quiet that had rang out when Roman and Remus had had their fight, but one that almost pretended to be a normal volume. Roman and Virgil pretended to make small talk, but it was little more than, “Can you pass the napkins?” and, “it’s a little warm today”, and, "I think Ken dolls are sexy!", and other crap like that. But that was fine. Deceit didn’t think he could stand a conversation with any of them, even Remus. _Especially_ Remus.

Deceit felt cold. _Again._

Breakfast passed in a quiet blur of murmurs and the feeling of tip-toeing around a big issue. Deceit went back to his room. 

After lazing around and being so goddamned _bored_ , Deceit decided to read the book he ~~stolen~~ ~~borrowed~~ _recollected_ from Logan. It hurt to look at the scribbles in the margins, the little notes, the spills and the stains that held so many memories, and recall how happy they had been.

Well, maybe they weren’t as happy as he had thought, because Virgil had left, and _Remus_ had _betrayed_ him.

_Everyone_ did, eventually. Like, think about it! Literally _everyone_ he had _ever_ known had shunned, _left_ him. He was _completely alone._

_Why?_ Deceit wanted to ask, he wanted to shout, to _scream_ it in the faces of those that used to be _his, Why does everyone keep leaving me?_

_(Is it…_ me? )

Oh, look, he was crying, tears gathering in his eyes and starting to blur his vision. _What_ a _surprise._ This _wasn’t_ becoming a habit or anything. He should _totally_ keep on doing it. The others might _not_ find out.

Deceit couldn’t bring himself to care, his hands shaking as he closed his book and flipped it over on his desk so he couldn’t see the cover.

_(Of_ course _it’s me.)_

He should probably do something else. Something that wouldn’t send him into a spiral that would end up making him…

_(I mean, who_ else _would it be?)_

Deceit felt the phantom pain of scales scabbing over.

Deceit shoved the unwanted thoughts out of his mind. The others would notice if his scales suddenly started to go missing. They’d pretended to care, and then they’d find out that he knew he was Deceit and _then…_

Well.

Deceit didn’t want to think about what awaited him if they found out.

(He did anyway.)

Deceit raked a hand over his face to banish the thought. He should—he should probably go do something with the others so they didn’t get suspicious.

But, instead he found himself padding over to his heating lamp. (He knew it wouldn’t help the cold. Still, it was nice to pretend that he had _some_ control over his life.)

His scales twinged with a pain that wasn’t even there.

— — —

Roman sighed harshly as he waved away yet another stack of failed ideas. His trash can was overflowing by now. 

Work had slowed ever since Deceit died.

It was _kinda_ hard to focus on an idea for a frivolous game with friends when you were faced with the realization that you could _die._

Thomas had pronounced a mini-hiatus after the… the _incident._ Not a full one, he just told his fans that his videos would come a bit slower. Thomas’s fans were nothing but supportive, which made Thomas as a whole _that_ much more guilty that he couldn’t make videos as often.

Roman rubbed his eyes with one hand. _Damn,_ he couldn’t even get a _break_ since Deceit had died. Even with tons of slack given to him, it was all Roman could do to stay on his schedule. It was like trying to stay afloat in water with your hands tied together. Half the water may have been drained, but that didn't make it any easier to swim. 

Every time Roman stared at his paper, the image of Deceit, broken and battered, by _his_ creation, stared back up at him.

Roman let out a half-laugh as he leaned back in his chair. _God,_ they all needed therapy, didn’t they? It made Roman wish that he could summon Emile as easily as he could one of his costumes. Well, technically he could summon Emile’s _body_ if he was in the Imagination, but he couldn’t make a fully-rounded character. There were only a few of those wandering the Imagination, and those were made by the _King._

And… well, Roman didn’t really go to the Imagination anymore, anyway. Well, he did on _occasion,_ just… not as much, that’s all. It was just too painful. The last time he visited there was when he went on that little...ah, _excursion_ with Virgil.

Roman felt a familiar flush rise to his face as he remembered how Virgil had towered over him after freaking out about him being so close to the cliff edge. ~~Was he into tall guys, now? Was that going to be a thing?~~ He quickly fanned at his face to avoid ruining his beautiful complexion. He was a master in many things, but blushing was not one of them. Oh, he could blush _plenty,_ but he did not blush _well_ . His _entire face_ ended up red, and it took literal _ages_ for it to die down again. Why was _he_ the one cursed with an unflattering blush? He was a _prince!_ Princes should have _good_ blushes!

Heck, even _Remus_ had a better blush, only blushing on his neck and ears in little splotchy spots, which was not admittedly the _best_ , but he rarely blushed at all, and it was _certainly_ better than his whole face. _Patton_ had the cutest blush that anyone could ever _imagine,_ just a light dusting over the bridge of his nose and cheeks. Roman would _die_ for that blush. Virgil had a similar one, his ears turning a bright red as well.

Dammit, was Roman blushing again? He was _totally_ blushing again. 

Roman buried his head in his arms. A _gay._ A _disaster_ gay. A _raging_ disaster gay. That’s what he was. 

But now wasn’t really the time to dwell on it. Even as the romantic he was, Roman was smart enough to put his feelings on hold while Virgil grieved. It was the princely thing to do.

And no, he wasn’t putting off confronting his feelings because of his crushing fear of rejection and loneliness. _Obviously._

(Roman could almost hear Deceit’s _tsk_ of disappointment in his ear.)

Besides… Roman wasn’t quite sure Virgil would even reciprocate.

Okay, okay, he knew he had a thing with being _unnecessarily dramatic,_ but this wasn’t just him being woeful and angsty! He… he had been _quite_ the fiend to Virgil in the past. Even if he—even if _Thomas_ had thought of him as a villain, Roman’s behavior had been absolutely inexcusable. 

The hot burn of shame rose in the back of Roman’s throat. The familiar pain of guilt clawed at his insides. Or maybe he was just hungry. He was probably just hungry.

Wait, had he been eating? Yes, he had been, he had eaten breakfast, right? No, wait…

Roman squinted at his phone, _What_ time _is it?_

After a few moments of remembering that _yes, Roman, you have to actually consume food and water to survive_ , Roman rubbed at his face with a heavy sigh.

_Yep. Yeah. Gotta do the… health thing. Food. Yeah, lunch. Gotta—gotta eat lunch._

And so, to his mild annoyance, Roman got up to go make some food.

— — —

Patton was sitting at the table, eating some cold soup. Or staring at his soup. He didn’t think he had taken a bite in a while. His cat cardigan was warm, and he rubbed his thumb on the edge of his sleeve, pulling the hood a little farther down on his face.

A warm hand rested softly on his shoulder. Patton jumped slightly. 

“Padre?” Roman asked softly, “You good there?”

Patton blinked up at the princely side, offering a small smile, “I’m fine kiddo! Just…” he hesitated, “not feeling all too hot today. I’ll be right as rain tomorrow, don’t you worry!”

Roman hummed in apparent disbelief, “It’s okay to feel down, Pat. Getting through grief isn’t a _race._ And having a fight with Logan isn’t exactly a reason for _celebration,_ either. ”

Patton shrugged, half-heartedly stirring his soup with a spoon. 

Roman stood at Patton’s shoulder for a moment longer, then relaxed with a sigh, “Do you want to talk about it? You only wear your cat hoodie like that when things are really, really bad.”

Patton shook his head with a sigh of his own, “No. I don’t— I don’t want to think, I just…” he rubbed the edge of his sleeve with his thumb, “Can we talk about something other than it? I—I just _can’t_ right now.”

Roman’s voice was soft as he responded, “Of course, Pat.”

Patton smiled weakly at him, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” was Roman’s reply, “Hey, do you want me to warm up your soup?”

Patton pushed the bowl towards him, “Actually, you can have it. I’m not even hungry.”

“Padre…” Roman’s brows furrowed, “You gotta eat.”

“I’m just not that hungry!” Patton protested.

“You hardly ate breakfast, either.” Roman returned, crossing his arms.

Patton wilted, “I… had a big dinner last night?” He offered weakly.

“Well, I _know_ that’s not true,” Roman raised an eyebrow at him.

Immediately, Patton felt the crushing guilt of lying to Roman. He slumped in his seat, looking down. He was such a _hypocrite_ sometimes. Look at him, lying when he had ruined another’s entire life for doing the _same exact thing._ His eyes misted over, “Sorry, Ro, I just…” he trailed off, not knowing what to say. What _could_ he say?

Roman wasn’t having any of that, “Nonsense,” he said, whisking the bowl away as he stepped into the kitchen, “dust in the wind, it’s forgotten. But that won’t get you out of eating.”

Patton let a small smile grace his face as Roman popped his bowl into the microwave, and started bustling around the kitchen.

“I’m going to make some grilled cheese, is that okay?” Roman called back.

Patton shrugged, marking a noncommittal noise, “I guess,” the cotton of his cat hoodie was soft against his cheek as he propped up his head on his hand.

A couple minutes later, Roman brought in two now steaming bowls of soup and two freshly-made grilled cheese sandwiches. Patton accepted his portion, and Roman sat down to eat.

Patton stared at his food again, unwilling to summon the willpower to eat it.

Roman nudged him, “C’mon, Pat, _eat.”_

When Patton did nothing, Roman sighed, “Patton…”

_“Sorry,_ sorry,” Patton hurried to slurp up a spoonful of the soup. It was chicken noodle, he noticed. He didn’t remember making it.

It was silent for a few moments, and then Roman huffed out a small laugh, “Usually this is the other way around, isn’t it? _You’re_ normally the one to get _me_ to take care of myself.”

Patton looked down again, feeling hot shame curl up in his gut, “l-I’m sorry, I know I should—should be the one taking care of _you_ , I promise th-that—”

“Hey, wait, _no_ ,” Roman’s soft voice cut in, and the princely side set a hand in his shoulder, “I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t mean anything bad by it, _promise._ I’m not upset.”

Patton looked up at Roman, “No?” He asked.

“Not at _all,_ ” Roman confirmed, “It was just interesting to see the role swap, that’s all.”

Patton bit his lip, still feeling guilt roiling in his gut, “But—”

“No buts,” Roman said firmly, sliding out of his chair to cup Patton’s face with both hands, “You are under _no_ obligation to take care of us twenty-four seven. You have to take some time to yourself, y’know.”

“But I _promised_ to take care of you!” Patton burst out, “I-I’m supposed to be the _dad!_ I gotta stay strong f-for you guys! I—I promised!” He quieted, “I _promised._ ”

“And that is a promise _no one_ expects you to keep _all the time_ .” Roman said seriously, “No one _wants_ you to. It’s _unhealthy_ , Patton.”

Patton felt a tear slip out of his eye. Roman caught it with his thumb, “It’s alright to cry, Pat.” Roman assured him.

And so, a couple seconds later, Patton found himself sobbing into Roman’s shirt, the creative side’s warm arms wrapped around him.

“I-I-It’s just, it’s Lo- _Logan,_ ” Patton hiccuped into the white fabric of Roman’s shirt, “he-he-he’s always s-so _logical_ , a-and that usually means he’s _right_ , but now he’s making the same mistake _I_ did! A-and I don’t know _why!_ I-I—” he broke off into a sob.

Roman stroked his hair, “So I could hardly understand a word you said,” he acknowledged, and Patton huffed out a teary laugh, “but it sounds like you’re worried about Logan, and that’s completely understandable,” he hesitated, “but I don’t think that your going to have to worry about him much. It’s not like—it not like he outright _hates_ him, he just thinks his moral orientation is wrong? I don't know. And like, even if he _did_ hate him, it’s not like he can _do_ anything, right? He just has a difference of opinion. It’s not the end of the world. Even if—even if he called him a _villain,_ he can’t really do much _else_ to him, y’know? It's not like he can make every day for a him a living hell for him by insulting him every time he sees him or anything.”

Patton sniffled, “I guess—I guess you’re right.”

Roman patted his head, “Did that make you feel a bit better?”

Patton leaned back, sniffing and wiping his eyes with his sweater paws, “A—A little,” he said wetly, “s-sorry about fallin’ apart on ya, kiddo.”

“No need to apologize!” Roman said, as boisterous as ever, “It was my pleasure to help a fellow friend in distress!”

Patton gave a watery giggle at Roman’s antics, “My hero!”

(Roman smiled a bit brighter.) 

Patton wiped his eyes again and took a big slurp of his soup, “And now I’m hungry, would you look at that! You’re magical, Roman!”

Roman’s larger-than-life laugh resounded throughout the room, “I’m glad to have been of service!”

Patton chuckled, and took a bite out of his grilled cheese. He actually _was_ hungry. He hadn’t eaten much since breakfast yesterday.

A comfortable silence fell on the two as they ate their lunch. Patton was pretty good at activating sudden mood swings. When you’re Emotion, every emotion you feel tends to be _pretty_ saturated. Crying one minute, and laughing the other was something he had done more times than he could count. 

Roman slurped the last of his soup, and set the bowl down with an apprehensive look on his face. He seemed to have made up his mind about something.

“Hey, Pat,” Roman started, “could I ask you something? It’s… not really the happiest subject to talk about, but… it’s been eating at me for a while.”

Patton’s eyebrows furrowed in concern, and worry tugged at his gut, “Sure, kiddo, what’s bugging ya?”

“Well…” Roman hesitated, “you remember how when Dee got his scales, and then Virgil had that—that panic attack, and he got all… spidery?”

Patton tilted his head slightly, “Yes,” he said carefully, “what about it?”

“It’s just—” Roman fidgeted, “You were surprisingly chill about it, even though he was a _spider,_ and Logan and I hadn’t really seen him like that before? I mean, we _kinda_ knew about it beforehand, and it seems like he’s a little more comfortable with us seeing him like that, but…” Roman ran his hands through his hair nervously, “you knew exactly what to do, and you kinda acted like you’ve done this before?”

Patton tensed. He didn’t want Roman to ask for an answer he wasn’t ready for. The poor kiddo was already hard enough on himself. Patton opened his mouth to stop Roman, but the princely side barged onwards, speaking quickly.

“I mean, who am I kidding, you definitely have helped him through a panic attack, he’s _Anxiety!_ A—a worried ball of nerves with enough anxious energy to power up a whole _block!_ Of _course_ he’s had a panic attack around you! You're just the guy to help!” His voice was high, and his nervous laughter afterwards was so high pitched and _panicked_ that Patton worried for a moment that he would have to help Roman though one of his _own_ panic attacks.

Roman ran his hand through his hair again, and took in a deep breath, continuing in a much calmer, but still unusually high, voice, “I guess—I guess the question I’m trying to ask you is—” his eyes flicked up to look Patton in the eye, “—was...was _I_ ever the reason for those?”

Patton bit the inside of his cheek as Roman stared pleadingly at him, and he automatically looked down, not being able to keep eye contact with him.

Patton heard Roman release a soft _puff_ of air, “Oh,” he choked out, “O-okay.”

Patton pressed his lips together, a soft whine of sympathy at the back of his throat. He looked up to see Roman’s fists clenched on the tablecloth, blinking rapidly.

“Oh, _kiddo_ ,” Patton breathed out, slid out of his chair to give Roman a hug on his side.

“I—I mean, I shouldn’t really b-be surprised, right?” Roman said shakily, “I—I was—” he broke off and pressed his lips together, “I was an _asshole,_ wasn’t I? I—I shouldn’t be—” he stopped and took a shaky breath.

“It’s alright to cry, Ro,” Patton echoed the words Roman had said to him only a few minutes ago.

“I’d r-rather not,” Roman replied, wiping his eyes with a small embarrassed smile, “I—I’m not really a pretty crier.”

Patton’s lips pulled downwards in a frown, “I’m not a pretty crier, either.”

“No,” Roman half-chuckled, “but you’re certainly b-better than me!” Roman said with painfully fake mirth, “My face gets too red i-in all the wrong places!”

Patton shifted, turning to look at Roman’s face, splotchy red and bright-eyed with tears, “No one’s gonna see,” he said softly.

Roman swiped at his eyes again, lips pressed together tightly, “I—,” he sniffed, then suddenly reached forward and pulled Patton into a tight hug, burying his face in Patton’s shoulders.

Roman may have been an ugly crier, but he was definitely not a loud one. Whereas Patton sobbed with ferocity, the loudest thing Roman did was hiccup and sniffle every so often, his breathing erratic and uneven.

Patton did his best to comfort the kiddo, but he knew he’d just have to let the crying run its course. It was healthy, even if Patton himself forgot about that sometimes.

And anyways, as much as his heart broke for Roman, he couldn’t offer platitudes saying Roman wasn’t as bad as he thought he was, because it wouldn't be _true._ Roman _had_ been a bully to Virgil. Frankly, he’d been a little bit of a bully to _all_ of them, but he had gotten _so_ much _better_ since then. Patton wasn’t in any place to say that Virgil had forgiven Roman, but he could tell that the anxious babey boi was much more comfortable with the princely side than he had been before.

(And it wasn’t like Patton had been any _better_ than Roman. _Gosh,_ what _he_ had done was _unforgivable._ But it wasn’t the time to sob about his own mistakes. He had to _help_ Roman now, not bring him down.)

As Patton’s cardigan became more and more familiar with Roman’s tears, Patton saw out of the corner of his eye a figure coming down the stairway, completely silent, as only Virgil could be.

Virgil stopped on the fourth step, his mouth forming a shocked _'_ _o’_. His eyes searched Patton’s from where he was standing, looking worried. (Well, he was always worried, wasn’t he?)

Patton gently waved him off, shaking his head and trying to convey a, _‘not now,’_ message to the side. Roman probably wouldn’t appreciate having anyone else witness his moment of weakness, _especially_ the one he was crying _about_.

Fortunately, Virgil seemed to get the message, and hesitantly turned back up the stairs, sending a few more concerned glances Roman’s way. If Roman hadn’t currently been crying on Patton’s shoulder, Patton might have giggled at how worried Virgil was for the princely side.

And Roman, oblivious, clutched Patton tighter and continued to cry.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TLDR: Deceit misses his family, Roman's a gay depressed idiot, Patton's also gay depressed idiot, and now Roman has even more guilt to pile on to his deteriorating mental health.
> 
> Okay real talk, my google docs isnt working??? And dad is refusing to fix it??? I'm using the computer right now to upload this, but this is like, a one time thing, y'know? I had to get special permission to use this. So I'm not sure if I'll be able to update next week. I'll try to fix the bug on my phone as soon as I can, but just in case I can't, and dad still won't fix it, I wanted to let you all know that there's a chance the update next week will be late.
> 
> And this isnt related to anything at all, but have you ever though about how Virgil's ducking out was the equivalent of suicide? Like, it's not exactly that or anything, but Thomas put a bunch of suicide prevention things on the end of Accepting Anxiety, so,,,,Idk.
> 
> And one more thing, I hope all of you are ready for Roman angst, because I'm giving him his own arc now lol. If Thomas wont do it yet, then I WILL. Also, I just really like Roman. I think you'll find that this fic is as much about him just as much as it it's about Remus and Deceit. 
> 
> Anyways, come see me at astronomical-bagel on tumblr! I love you all, and have a wonderful day! Speaking of which, happy birthday to Thomas!!! He's 31, which is really weird because I still think of him as 28!! But I'm coping by making cookies!!
> 
> (also I have 420 kudos now. Blaze it (and ty sm ily all))


	22. [Insert Keysmash Here]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: topics of suicide
> 
> (Also very sorry if this is sloppy I’m a little preoccupied and it’s late and I had to rush sorry)

Deceit woke up on his rock, feeling quite groggy and disgusted with himself. He couldn’t sleep all day! He had things to do! Lies to tell! Plans to hatch and foil!

Well, perhaps not that last one. Deceit was pretty much out of the “evil, plan-hatching” business by now. The most he could really do at the moment was keep Remus under control.

Well, not even _that_ , now. 

Deceit felt the ever-present chill ghosting his skin as unwanted thoughts rose to the surface.

Deceit tugged on his hair (damn, he missed his hat. If only he wasn’t paranoid about someone seeing him again) as he checked his alarm. Five fifteen. Almost time for dinner, right? Well, when he had been in the Dark Side of Thomas’s mind, he had usually started making dinner around this time, but he couldn’t remember if Patton started earlier. Should he head out to see, or just wait for Patton to knock on the door?

Deceit’s eyes flicked towards his book. He could wait for Patton. It wasn’t like he was _that_ hungry, anyway.

(He _totally_ had eaten breakfast, and lunch, and he had _absolutely_ gotten something to eat the night before. He was _fine.)_

So, despite his empty stomach, Deceit padded over to his mahogany desk, sitting down to stare contemplatively at the fat book lying innocently on his desk, dozens of colored tabs and bookmarks and things poking out. As much as Deceit despised Logan, he was glad he didn’t seem to have touched his books. What was even more surprising was that his books were still _here._ All the rest of his belongings seemed to have vanished. Why was the bookshelf here?

Deceit flipped to the inside cover of his book, reading his careful scrawl of the date when he got the book. In the summer of senior year in high school. He remembered that time. Thomas still hadn’t been out yet, and Deceit had been fairly busy. Such _good_ times. It gave him an absolutely _wonderful_ feeling to make Thomas so miserable.

Remus hadn’t liked it, being in the closet. He had wanted to—well, it was pretty obvious what he wanted to do with guys. In fact, Virgil was one of the only ones on Deceit’s side. _He_ was the reason Deceit was making Thomas lie. Worries of everyone hating Thomas, nervous that maybe Thomas was faking it to be special, or something or other like that. Surprisingly, Patton was also on Deceit’s side. Catholic upraising and all that. Patton had just wanted to… what was that he had said? Oh, yes, just _push_ the gayness down until Thomas wasn’t gay anymore. 

As if anyone like _Remus_ could be held back with a few stern words. Hell, Deceit was surprised that Thomas lasted as long as he did in the closet.

Shaking his head to clear his mind of a torrent of memories, Deceit flipped over the next couple of pages that he had read earlier, stopping about a quarter into the book. The page was wrinkled with water and blood stains in a blobby shape. Remus had thought that killing a squid and setting it on his _brand-new_ book would cheer Deceit up after a nightmare. All it did was make Deceit whap the Remus on the head with the book. 

Although, to be fair, he didn’t have any more nightmares about the Subconscious that night. Hitting Remus on the head was strangely therapeutic. Ten out of ten, would recommend.

Deceit flipped to another page with a purple bookmark sticking out of it. Virgil had nervously given it to him freshman year of high school. He had only been with them for two years or so by then. They hadn’t even known his name yet. 

Deceit ran his fingers over the crunched fabric. It was decorated with Virgil-esque patches and stitches. Deceit had taught him to sew. He was glad that he had incorporated it into his new jacket, even if Virgil still hated him.

Deceit sighed and moved on to another page. This one… 

Deceit grimaced at the ripped-up page. Oh. It was _this_ book. 

Deceit and Remus had gotten into an argument. It was a few weeks after Virgil left. Blames were given, things brought up that shouldn’t have been. It had been a screaming match at the end, after Deceit had snarked about the reason why Roman didn’t come over anymore, and Remus had grabbed the book on the table and ripped out a page in retaliation.

Deceit blinked hard as he remembered how he had flung his hat at Remus. His own words rang in his ears, _“I hate you!”._

Deceit had fled to his room after that.

Hours later, with Deceit muffling his sobs in his pillow, Remus had crept in quietly, holding Deceit’s hat and a newly taped book in his hands. 

Remus’s fingers had been bloody. Deceit had seen the new holes on his sleeves. That had made him cry harder. Deceit had apologized, over and over and over again. His words had run together in one long stream as he sobbed into Remus’s chest, truth melding into lie and then back into truth again. Remus seemed to have gotten the message. He was good at that.

Deceit pursed his lips and shook his head to banish the memory, blinking hard, and moved on to another page.

This one had a happy memory tied to it. A ribbon was tucked in between the pages, left over from his first _actual_ birthday celebration. They had celebrated Virgil and Remus’s, and they had been almost affronted by the fact that they didn’t know Deceit’s birthday. And they were even _more_ horrified that Deceit himself didn’t know the date of the day he had faded into existence. Deceit never really cared that he had never gotten any sort of celebration. But apparently, it was _really_ important that Deceit got at least _one_ party, so, on a cold February day, Virgil and Remus had decked the living room with streamers, a cake, some random piles of bones, and gifts. It was _absolutely_ over the top, _completely_ unnecessary, and _every bit worth_ the couple hours Deceit had to take off his work.

The warm, fuzzy feeling in Deceit’s chest disappeared as he flipped through the next pages. They had flecks of blood spattering onto the words. Red fingerprints marking where he had desperately torn through the pages, searching for anything, anything to give him an ounce of comfort. 

The scales on Deceit’s arms and back _burned_.

— — —

Roman was not having a Good Day.

Well, on top breaking down in front of Patton, getting his face _horrifically_ splotchy and crying off all of his _outstanding_ makeup, now he felt morally _obligated_ to apologize to Virgil for being a bitch and _he just wasn’t prepared for that shit_.

A perpetual feeling of guilt gnawed at something encased in his ribs. He had been such an asshole to _everyone_ , back then. He had been such a bully that Virgil — _Virgil_ — had had panic attacks _because of him_. Not that Virgil having a panic attack was something unusual, but to think that he, _Prince Roman,_ self-proclaimed _hero_ , antagonized someone _so much_ that they _feared_ him? Or that they feared _because_ of him? 

Some prince _he_ was.

Fuck, _he_ had been the one to kick Virgil out of the Light Sides in junior high. He’d apologized, long ago, but that didn’t change the fact that he had _done_ it. Who even _did_ that? Kick someone out of their _home_ because what, they were a bit _shy?_ That wasn’t something a _prince_ would do. Hell, that wasn’t something a halfway decent _peasant_ would do. 

Roman flopped into his bed and pressed a pillow to his face. Now he’d have to apologize, which was simultaneously something a prince should _always_ do and something they should _never_ do. 

Princes shouldn’t have anything to apologize _for._

And it wasn’t that he was dragging his feet to admit he had been wrong — he’d shout _that_ from the _rooftops_ if they had had any — but rather… 

Roman just didn’t want to hear Virgil’s confirmation. 

It was pretty stupid, he _knew_ that. (to be honest, _everything_ about him was stupid. He knew he wasn’t the best corn in the crop) (mmm, _corn_ ) _(_ dammit _, Roman, stay on task!)_ It _was_ foolish to be so _terrified_ of Virgil’s (damnation?) (judgement?) (condemnation?) disapproval of him, but it wasn’t like he could really help it… it was _Virgil_ he was talking about. _Virgil!_ Could he really take the (wonderful) (absolutely outstanding) emo side _hating_ him again?

Maybe it wasn’t fair to assume that Virgil would hate him again— but it wasn’t smart to assume he _wouldn’t._ (Not that he was very smart to begin with) They hadn’t really brought up Roman’s _bullying_ since Virgil’s ducking out (because of _Roman! He_ was the reason Virgil almost—he tried to—).

Roman pressed the pillow tighter to his face and curled up on his side. _God,_ he _had_ to apologize—he wouldn’t be able to live with himself otherwise— but he was terrified that confessing of how awful he was would remind the other side of how much he hated him. They had been at such a _good_ spot before Deceit died, but they had taken about thirty steps back on that fateful day. Not immediately, but it had dredged up memories that everyone on both sides would have rather forgotten. They had backtracked to the point that when Dee had gotten his scales, Virgil had immediately expected Roman to _attack_ him. 

Was that how bad he had been? Would have ever attacked any of the Dark Sides in the past?

With an awful, sickening feeling of horror, Roman realized that the answer was ‘yes’.

— — —

Virgil was very worried.

Well, that wasn't really a big surprise, was it? Like really, have you _met_ him? He once worried that Thomas would get wasted just because someone _spilled_ alcohol on him. And then he proceeded to _needlessly_ have Thomas call a taxi just in case he accidentally drank alcohol—which he _hadn’t._

But today he was worried for an entirely _sane_ reason. 

I mean, it wasn’t often that you saw Princey crying.

Virgil could count on his hands how many times he had seen Roman cry — _seriously_ cry. Not counting tearing up at movies or watching Infinity War ( _everyone_ cried during that), but actually _sobbing_. It… wasn’t right. It felt as if the world was off-kilter (more than it already was. ‘World falling off of axis’ was still on his ‘Top Thousand Things I Fear’ list), or like everything was five inches to the left. Princey was _upset._ Like really, _really_ upset.

Virgil didn’t like it.

And not only was Roman upset, Virgil could feel the anxiousness enamenating off of him from here he lay on his bed. Even if every ounce of Virgil’s attention wasn’t on Roman, he’d still be able to sense the other’s increasing anxiety. Anxiety about what, Virgil didn’t have the foggiest of ideas. Usually he was good at guessing, but he couldn’t imagine _anything_ that could make Princey so upset. Logan may have been a flat-out _bitch_ earlier, but Virgil didn’t really think that Roman would get so worked up about that.

But what made Virgil worry even more was the cloud of self-depreciation surrounding Roman. 

Okay, so first off, self-deprecation didn’t really classify as ‘anxiety’, and so it was extremely different and much harder to see. It sort of… looked weird? Even if Virgil didn’t really see it… it was kind of like a difference in texture. It’s hard to explain. 

But Roman’s cloud of self-deprecation was a lot more noticeable than the others’, and almost seemed… targeted? Was that… maybe it was guilt? That was guilt, wasn’t it? Virgil had only seen that a couple times in his life… it was annoyingly hard to sense. But why…?

Ah, screw it. Virgil was never the type to lay low. (Okay, that was a flat-out lie, but Virgil was choosing to believe it at the moment for Reasons) He was just gonna go to Roman and ask him what the hell was going on, what was the matter, and if it was killable or not. Simple.

Yeah. Simple. He was going to… _confront_ Princey. And ask him what was bugging him. Easy. He was just, y’know… initiate social interaction. And he was going to go on a sensitive subject. And... _shit_ what if he messed it up? Roman probably didn’t want him there— he was just going to be intruding, he shouldn’t invade his privacy oh god Roman was going to _hate_ him after this—

Virgil cursed himself, _Dammit, Virgil! Just stop being a nervous wreck and_ do _it! You gotta do it_ sometime; _Princey’s_ never _like this! Something’s_ wrong! _Go_ help _him, you cowardly dingbat!_

And, with that absolutely out _standing_ pep talk, Virgil blinked—and he was in Roman’s room. 

Before he could hesitate, Virgil blurted out (oh god did he say it too fast? Shit Roman was going to think he was an _idiot_ —), “Well, _someone’s_ anxious,”

(Did he sound too sarcastic? Dammit he _definitely_ sounded too sarcastic, just kill him now. Put him out of his misery)

Roman yelped, sitting up and scrambling to look presentable ( _shit was he sleeping I knew I shouldn’t have come dammit dammit_ dammit). 

“V-Virgil?” Roman stuttered out, “What are you doing here?”

Virgil swallowed his nervousness and tried to look like he wasn’t in a state of perpetual panic (that is to say, he sat down and lounged on Roman’s chair like the absolute gay disaster he was), “You’re worried about something.” He said bluntly, “It’s making _me_ worried.”

“O-oh,” Roman chuckled slightly. It didn’t have any note of humor in it, “I forgot you have that… sensing thing.”

Virgil just shrugged and eyed Roman. The other side was getting even more anxious. Should he leave? No he couldn’t; he was already _here_. Leaving would be embarrassing. But Princey was _upset_ and Virgil was making it _worse._ But at the same time, Virgil _had_ to make sure everything was okay. He’d worry all _day_ if he left.

Conflictions on his tongue, Virgil opened his mouth, “Look, Princey—”

At the same time, Roman blurted out, “I just—”

They both hesitated. Virgil felt his face get warm, and he cleared his throat, embarrassed, “S-sorry. You can—”

At the same time _again_ , Roman spoke at the same time as him, “You first—”

They paused again, eyeing each other as they tried to guess when the best time to speak was. This happened more often than Virgil liked. Probably because at the end of the day, they were both the same guy. The curses of sharing a brain. (Literally. They had to share the braincell with each other. Logan tended to get overworked because of that.)

After a pause, Virgil spoke first, “Look, Princey. I don’t want to _pry,_ or go try to _guilt_ you into not being nervous — about _whatever_ you’re nervous about, but…” he hesitated, “Are you _okay?_ ”

Roman sagged, heaving a defeated sigh, “No.”

Virgil grimaced, “Okay, well. Points for honesty, at least. That’s a start.”

Roman sighed again, running his fingers through his hair, and Virgil didn’t miss how his aura of nervousness and guilt increased. Roman threw his legs over on the side of his bed, patting the spot next to him, “Can— can we talk for a sec?”

Now Virgil felt his _own_ nervousness increase. He was _not_ in _any way whatsoever_ ready for _any_ sort of talk. Hhhhhhhhh he was nervous. _Shit_ he was nervous. He was so nervous that he couldn’t produce a sound as he nodded and stood up, shakily making way to the spot next to Roman.

Roman was as silent as Virgil for a few moments, and Virgil could tell he was mustering up his courage for something.

“I know,” Roman started slowly, “that we have never had… the best history with each other.” Roman glanced up to Virgil, gauging his reaction.

Virgil, in the meantime, froze. _Oh._ So it was _that_ kind of conversation.

Seeing that Virgil had no response, Roman licked his lips and continued, voice shaky, “And I know that — that maybe there’s _never_ going to be a chance of you forgiving me—”

Virgil butted in, incredulity unlocking his voicebox, “Wait, _what?_ ”

“I know it sounds stupid!” Roman cried, hands clutching at his hair in frustration, “But Virgil— I can’t stop thinking about— how it was _my_ fault we kicked you out! And when you came back, it was _me_ who antagonized _you!_ And it was _me_ that— made you—made—”

Princey broke off, his voice seeming to fail him.

Virgil held his hands up in a calming gesture, “Whoa there, Princey,” his mind whirled as he digested what the other had said. He was still stuck on that? Virgil hadn’t really thought he had cared… 

Virgil’s eyebrows furrowed, “I thought we went over this, though? Like… when I ducked out?”

Roman sighed, one hand rubbing his other arm as he looked away, “Those were just useless compliments, weren’t they? It wasn’t like an apology or anything, right?” he faltered, then continued on in a quieter voice, “I—I still haven’t apologized.”

Virgil raised one shoulder, “I dunno,” he said, “it kind of _felt_ like an apology. And,” he looked down, picking the lint off the cuffs of his sleeves, “the compliments weren’t useless to _me_.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Virgil saw Roman quickly glance up to him, expression unreadable. His hand clenched where it was resting on his knee. Then Roman relaxed, looking away again, “Oh,” he said in a soft voice.

“Do you…” _God_ , Virgil couldn’t believe he was _saying_ this, “Do you want a hug?” He awkwardly opened his arms.

Roman’s head whipped towards him, eyes wide and mouth open with surprise, “You— _what?_ I mean, are you _sure?_ ”

Virgil shrugged, feeling his face warm up as he dropped his hands in embarrassment, “C’mon, Princey, don’t make it weird. You’re feeling bad, and hugs help. Get on with it.”

Roman’s face was tinted red as well, “I—yeah. Mmhm. Get—getting on with it.”

Slowly, almost cautiously, Roman leaned towards Virgil and leaned on his shoulder. He gave Virgil as much room as he could while still counting as physical contact, which, while admittedly sweet, would not do at _all._

Virgil nudged Roman with his trapped arm, “A _hug,_ Princey.” He reminded him, “ _Not_ a side-hug. We aren’t awkward co-workers.” 

Roman glanced up to him, and after a second, nodded, looking like he didn’t trust himself to speak. An unshed tear hung and the very edge of his eyelid, one blink from spilling over.

This time, Roman _actually_ hugged him. Which, okay wasn’t the most _comfortable,_ and Virgil was probably about to have a heart attack because, _yes, this is technically their first_ actual _hug_ because Virgil didn’t do the whole _contact_ thing often,and also _hhhhhhh touch-aversion_ , but he would live. It wasn’t actually that bad… Roman was soft. And warm. And—

_Hnnng no, Virgil, focus on Roman. Well, you’re already doing that but focus on_ comforting _Roman, not on how_ oh SHIT _whatever you do don’t focus on how you can feel his breath on your neck this is a_ normal _thing that normal friends do it’s just a hug it’s just a hug it’s just a hug this is_ fine—

Roman sniffled.

_Oh shit, Virgil, he’s crying what do I do I’m supposed to be comforting him hhhhhhh this was to make him feel_ better _what if I messed up shit what if he feels even worse did I ever forgive him did he ever forgive_ me _oh shit why am I so gay oh shit his hair is tickling my neck fuck fuck fuck—_

“I’m sorry,” Roman choked out quietly, “I am so, _so_ sorry.”

_Virgil you gotta say that you forgive him_ say that you forgive him he just apologized _open your goddamn mouth and say it oh god he’s gonna think I hate him oh shit oh shit shit shit shit_

“I forgive you.” Virgil blurted, _far_ too fast to be considered socially acceptable. ( _Good job now he thinks you’re an idiot._ ) Virgil cleared his throat and said again in a slower tone, “I mean, I forgive you.”

Roman hugged Virgil a little tighter, a barely audible, “ _Thank you_ ,” making its way to the anxious side’s ear. 

Virgil bit his lip, unsure if he should respond or not. In the end, he just hugged Roman tighter.

Things were okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOO HOW WAS THAT EPISODE YALL?????
> 
> Just an FYI, nothing is gonna change in the fic. I have like 7 chapters prewritten and I am NOT rewriting them. That being said, I’m off my break! Woo! And thanks to all of you, my absolutely lovely and outstanding readers, I have fixed my google docs! Thank you for all your help!
> 
> ~~also Roman and Virgil are very gay and you can pry my hurt/comfort from my cold dead hands~~
> 
> Also, I brought this up in the notes of the last chapter but, uh...Virgil ducking out was the equivalent of suicide?? And that’s how it’s gonna be treated in this fic, and it’s DEFINITELY going to be talked about more. I’m gonna add a tag for it in a sec lol
> 
> (If you wanna dm me at astronomical-bagel on tumblr to talk abt anything, you can!! All are welcome as long as u don’t hate on anyone bc I can’t mentally deal with that. I’m thinking of setting up a discord to scream abt anything and everything, if y’all are interested!)


	23. Big Oof

Deceit walked down Remus’s hall. Patton had asked to tell the green-clad side and his brother that it was a Fend-for-Yourself Night. The only reason Deceit hadn’t ran away screaming was because he had to, y’know, _not blow his cover_. Deceit doubted that Patton had ever had a Fend-for-Yourself night with Remus. Remus could make _unholy_ concoctions with very few ingredients. 

The first time Deceit remembered calling for a Fend-for-Yourself night, Remus had gotten banned from the kitchen. The second time, Remus somehow managed to make some explosive poison in the laundry room? That he was probably planning to _eat?_ And so now he wasn’t allowed in _there_ either. 

Yep. Those were the good days.

(In all honesty, Deceit had no idea if that last thought was sarcastic or not.)

Anyways, so now Deceit was headed off to Remus’s room. Which he did not want to do. Actually, Deceit had no idea why he just couldn’t _text_ Remus. 

Actually, nevermind. Remus set his phone to vibrate.

And so down the hallway Deceit went. Damn, it sure was long. Even if Remus was willing to betray him, this just went to show that he probably would do the same to the rest of the sides.

(Part of Deceit was glad Remus so obviously didn’t like the Lights. But then he felt furious with himself for thinking that. But why should he be angry at himself? _He_ didn’t like the Light Sides _either._ He didn’t want Remus to fall prey to their trap. They’d probably throw him out again, right?)

(Wait, now he felt guilty again. Was it because of Virgil? They hadn’t thrown _him_ out yet, and he’d been here for a _while_.)

(Deceit’s mind flashed back to a line of thought he had had over a decade ago.)

( _But Anxiety_ protects _Thomas,_ He had thought.)

( _So do you._ He had returned to himself.) 

(Part of Deceit wondered if that was still true.)

(Wait. No. Of _course_ he protected Thomas. Why would he be here if he didn’t?)

( _Everyone_ _else seems to think that you don’t,_ the little bitchass motherfucker in his head whispered, _even Remus_.)

(Deceit didn’t have an answer for that.)

Oh, look. He was at Remus’s door. Same as ever, with peeling and bloodied green paint, scars on the wood from various weapons, some still sticking out from the door. Some new knives were poking through from the other side, right at the height of where Patton’s head would be. Deceit would _love_ to hear the stories about those. 

(Once again, Deceit didn’t know if he was being sarcastic or not.)

For some reason, Deceit felt nervous. Why did he feel nervous? It was _just_ Remus.

(That one was definitely _not_ sarcasm. _Totally.)_

Deceit tugged on his sadly non-hatted hair. He _really_ didn’t want to have a conversation with Remus. He didn’t want to have to talk to him, even if it was only about three sentences and through a door, he still had to _talk_ to him. Opening his mouth and forming coherent sentences to convey meaning to his friend. His ex-friend. His only friend he had had left, but didn’t, anymore. But he was _kinda_ a friend, but they were both lying about it, so...

(Wait, Deceit was confused now.)

Steeling himself, Deceit knocked on the door (twice, not three times), “Hey, Remus? Patton says it’s a Fend-for-Yourself night.”

Deceit heard a little ‘ _eep’_ come through the door, then a _‘smack’,_ and Deceit imagined Remus slapping a hand over his mouth. 

(That was _not_ cute. That was _not._ )

(Lynda, I swear if you say _one more thing—)_

( _Any_ ways,)

“Decei— I mean, _Dee!”_ Remus appeared at the door.

Deceit pretended not to hear the slip-up, instead looking up at Remus. (Damn, where was a hat to make you feel taller when you needed it?) (Seriously, though, Remus was a head taller than him. Absolutely ridiculous. Remus should slouch more.)

A slightly-too-long moment of silence passed. Remus blinked down at Deceit, and Deceit blinked up at Remus. That was funny. He had been annoyed by Remus’s height before, but he hadn’t really ever thought it was _disorienting._ Remus’s eyes were a strange shade of brown, almost green. Funny how he realized that only after he died.

With horror, Deceit realized the last time he had exchanged words with Remus was when he hadn’t had a shirt on.

God, he had the _worst_ of luck.

Deceit cleared his throat, “H-hello, Remus.” (He wasn’t blushing. He _wasn’t_ blushing. He wasn’t some _teenager._ He had more _class_ than that.)

“Hi!” Remus returned, his voice high, even for him. He didn’t say anything beyond the greeting. Seriously, was he going to make _Deceit_ carry the conversation? How unlike him.

Deceit took a step back, away from Remus and the disorienting air he had about him that he never really had noticed before, “Well, I guess I’ll be going, then?” the sentence came out as an almost-question, “Please don’t blow up the microwave if you make something to eat.”

“Okay!” Remus chirped, unblinking. Was this normal behavior for Remus? Why did Deceit feel so _unsettled?_

“Okay, then.” Deceit said uncertainly as he started walking back, pretending not to feel Remus’s eyes on his back. ( _Don’t turn around don’t turn around don’t turn_ around—)

Deceit felt as if his brain was infested with worms. _Uurghh._ What an _unsettling_ experience. Was Remus still watching him? 

Nevermind. It didn’t matter. 

(Damn, it might as well be hurricane season, his heart was thundering so hard.)

The hallway felt unsettlingly long.

— — —

Deceit came up to Roman’s door, seeing Logan’s farther down the hallway. He idly wondered why Patton hadn’t told him to talk to the logical side. Actually, he hadn’t seen Logan since he had enforced the lie onto him. Deceit wasn’t sure if he should be overjoyed or terrified by that fact. 

Well, nevermind that. Deceit just wanted to get this over with to get back under his heat lamp. He knocked on Roman’s door.

There was no answer.

Deceit knocked again, (four knocks. Not three. Never three.), “Roman?” He asked. Was he here? Deceit hadn’t seen him in the living room… perhaps he was in the Imagination?

Just to make sure, Deceit cracked open Roman’s door.

Okay, in retrospect, perhaps Deceit overreacted _slightly,_ but the sight of Roman’s head buried in Virgil’s shoulder as they leaned awkwardly against the wall, asleep, understandably made Deceit, ah… _curious_ . Yes, that’s what it was, he was _curious._

Okay, so maybe he was still a _leeeetle_ overprotective of Virgil. Screw the last two years he had spent mourning the loss of him (even if Virgil hadn’t actually died), Deceit still had Mom Instincts! He could be protective if he _damn_ well wanted to!

“Hold up,” Deceit said, stepping in and closing the door behind him, “I thought you guys _hated_ each other.”

Now, Deceit didn’t like Roman very much. Oh, he was a _joy_ to make fun of, but Remus complained about him all the time, and Deceit knew that he had more or less bullied Virgil before. So he felt it was completely natural to get defensive. In the callback argument, hadn’t Virgil been at Roman’s throat? Perhaps Deceit had just seen what he had wanted to see. That happened sometimes.

Virgil woke up easily. He had always slept light, “Wha…?” He said blearily, looking up at Deceit, “What’s it to you?”

Deceit crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, “I’m just curious as to why you’re all _buddy-buddy_ , now, that’s all.”

Virgil’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Why are you—” he broke off with a gasp, realization flooding his features.

Roman twitched, then groaned and sat up, “ _Que pasa?_ I’m trying to _sleep,_ here!” He paused, seeing Virgil cover his mouth with his hands, then turned to Deceit, “... _Dee?_ What are you — why is Virgil — _what’s happening?”_

Virgil’s eyes were quickly filling with tears, and Deceit bit the inside of his cheek. _Shit._ He had acted too much like himself. Virgil was remembering. That was fine. Deceit could fix it. 

Neither Virgil or Deceit spoke, or broke eye contact. Roman looked back and forth between them, “Did I miss something?” He hesitated, looking concerned, then said in a softer voice, “Virgil?”

Virgil lowered his hands, one scrambling for Roman’s shoulder. Deceit bit his cheek harder as he saw Virgil’s breathing quicken. _Deceit could fix this._

“Why did you— _you’re_ not— _why_ —” Virgil said wildly, breath coming in quicker and quicker gasps, until all that came out was a broken, “ _Deceit.”_

Roman started, his head swiveling to Deceit, “Wait, _what?_ Do you mean—” he looked at Virgil for confirmation, but at his lack of response, turned towards Deceit again.

Deceit wrenched his gaze away from Virgil’s tear-filled one. Roman’s eyes widened. Apparently, that was only confirmation that he needed, because he inhaled sharply. Deceit mentally braced himself.

Whatever Roman was about to do, he was cut off by Virgil whimpering. The side was clutching his head, knees brought up to his chest in a universal sign of distress.

In a flash, Roman was out of the bed, sword out, “What are you _doing_ to him?” He growled, voice low, dangerous.

Deceit could only look at Virgil sadly. He had broken through an implanted lie. That had its repercussions. 

Deceit’s stomach twisted as Virgil cried out softly in pain. He could fix it. He _had_ to fix it. He just… had to get past Roman first.

Roman looked like he couldn’t decide between attacking or helping Virgil, something Deceit was _exceedingly_ grateful about. A stab wound would be hard to hide.

Taking advantage of Roman’s indecisiveness, Deceit put on a coy smile, sauntering forward, “Oh, Roman, it _is_ me who’s doing that. Virgil here _isn’t_ just remembering something he shouldn’t have.”

Roman faltered, the tip of his sword lowering as he tried to piece together what Deceit had said. He always had had a hard time following his words.

Taking his chance, Deceit darted under Roman’s sword, ignoring his shout of alarm, and reached towards Virgil, pressing his fingers to his forehead, whispering a quick, “You forgot again, you’re going back to sleep,” before twisting away from any attack the Roman might try.

Immediately, all the air in Deceit’s lungs felt it was sucked out, and he felt the heavy weight of exhaustion fall upon his limbs. 

“What did you _do?”_ Roman demanded,

“I just — _huff —_ made things _worse.”_ Deceit placated, breathing heavily.

Roman frowned, looking confused, “You... _what?_ You’re not—”

Deceit panted, resisting the urge to lean against something, “It — it _does_ matter.” He snapped, stumbling forward slightly, “What _doesn’t_ — _hhuff_ — what _doesn’t_ matter is that _you—_ ” he snapped his fingers, “— don’t remember this.”

Nothing happened, except Roman’s eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Panic made Deceit’s breathing even more short, “ _Damn it!”_ he cursed, “Why won’t you—” he snapped again, once, twice, three times. 

Roman lowered his sword, “Deceit, I don’t think—”

“Shut _up!”_ Deceit snarled, he mentally grabbed that little ball of energy that rested somewhere behind his collarbone and wrestled it into his control. He snapped again, feeling his power respond to his will this time, “You _don’t_ remember _any_ of this, you _haven’t_ woken up yet, and you‘re _still_ asleep, got it?”

Roman stiffened, and walked back to his bed as Deceit wondered when the ground had gotten so close.

Ah, yes. He had fallen. He had to… he had to get up. If he stayed, Roman and Virgil would wake up. And that was bad. Because… because of… because of the Subconscious.

That was enough to get Deceit up (not counting the four times he had fallen back to the floor), stumbling out of Roman’s room as multicolored dots danced in the corners of his vision. His tongue felt like cotton and lead at the same time, light yet heavy. Pins and needles stabbed at his limbs.

Deceit leaned against the wall as he stumbled forward. No one was in the kitchen, right? They better not be. He _definitely_ would be able to play this off.

Through his haze, Deceit somehow made it to his door. (If asked later, he wouldn’t be able to recall a single bit of his travel through the mindscape.) He missed when reaching for his doorknob. Twice, in fact.

Once inside, Deceit didn’t even make it to his bed. His legs seemed to be made of whipped cream and limp noodles. He crashed to his knees, panting. He was so _tired._

Deceit hacked out a cough, feeling sweat beading on his forehead. He had overexerted himself. That was dangerous. _Exceedingly_ dangerous.

He was too tired to worry, though. He had to… he had to rest before something really bad happened.

Deceit climbed to his feet once more, more or less falling onto his bed from there, passing out within the minute.

— — —

If anyone was wondering, Logan was still Confused.

Who was “anyone” in this case? Logan didn’t know. He hadn’t seen any of the others since the argument the day before. (twenty-two hours, seventeen minutes, and forty-three seconds, forty-four seconds, forty-five seconds ago) Also, he hadn’t slept. Or eaten. _Horribly_ unhealthy (lack of sleep could lead to things such as heart disease, and forgoing eating leads to fatigue), but honestly, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Deceit’s bad.” Logan murmured at his desk, “Deceit. Is. Bad. Baaaaaad.” Logan stretched out the word like a figurative spring, “Deceit is bad.” He hesitated, then corrected himself, “ _Was._ Was bad. Deceit was bad.”

_Hmm._ Was this what having an emotionally charged opinion was like? It was so _illogical._

But, at least Logan had figured out why he felt that way.

After a few hours of deliberating, Logan had realized that his sudden realization must have been a subconscious one. Deceit really _had_ done some heinous things in the past, and had directly insulted Logan multiple times, so of _course_ he’d have a negative image of him. But, with Deceit gone, he hadn’t let himself dwell on the subject for long, and therefore did not think of Deceit that way. But now that _Dee_ was here, (and Logan was proud of his distinction between the two) the (ugh) emotional side of his brain no longer felt any hesitance in vilifying Deceit.

(That’s how it works, right? That made sense. That was the only _logical_ explanation.)

There was a knock on Logan’s door.

Logan cringed inwardly. That must be Remus, ready to stab him in the gut, or spray him in the eyes with pepper spray. While it _(hopefully)_ wouldn’t hurt him, it wasn't exactly a _joy_ to be stabbed.

Oh, well. He’d have to face him _eventually._ Hopefully he’d be able to spit out an apology for being so harsh the night before with his opinion.

Logan stood up and made his way to his door, cracking it open cautiously, “Remus, I know you’re mad, but—” Logan paused, opening the door wider as he blinked at a nervous-looking Patton, “Oh, hello, Patton. I wasn't expecting it to be you.”

Patton played with the cuffs of his hoodie for a second, licking his lips in apparent apprehension. He was wearing his hoodie correctly. According to Logan’s observations of him, he only did that when he was feeling suboptimal (sad, morose, depressed, despondent, sorrowful, dejected). Great, now _another_ thing to feel guilty about.

“I-I came to apologize.” Patton said.

Logan blinked in shock, snapping out of his thoughts, “You’re _what?”_

Patton shrunk back, “I —I just don’t think that I was very... _fair_ to you last night.” he mumbled, “You’re allowed to have your own opinions, and, well, I may not _like_ them, or _agree_ with them, but it wouldn’t be _fair_ — it wouldn't be _right_ to ostracize you, not when,” Patton tugged at his sleeves and looked down, quieting a bit, “Not when I’ve done _worse.”_

Logan hesitated, processing, before opening the door wider, voice soft “Do you want to come in?” 

Patton looked up, then nodded, pressing his lips together, “Please,” his voice broke a bit on the word.

— — —

And so Logan found himself sitting on his bed, with his back to the wall, with Patton leaning against him. They said nothing, just staring at the wall opposite to them. 

Logan glanced at Patton, and noticed he was twisting up the sleeves of his hoodie, a sure sign of distress. It didn’t take much deduction to figure out what was _causing_ that distress, when taking the conversation from the day before into consideration.

“It is illogical to blame yourself, Patton.” Logan said softly, “There are _undoubtedly_ many things that we could have done to prevent Deceit’s death, and it is not fair to yourself to still feel so guilty about something that transpired over twenty years ago.”

Patton sighed, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses, “I _know,”_ he said miserably, then cringed and corrected himself, “I mean, my _head_ knows that, but…” he brought his hands down and stared at them, “but the _rest_ of me refuses to believe it.”

Logan hummed in acknowledgement. He wasn’t well-versed in _emotions._ Once Patton acknowledged that his feelings were illogical, and yet that still didn’t change them, there wasn’t much Logan could do.

Patton continued, clenching his hands into fists, “I mean — I never even _checked up_ on him! I never told him when the _King_ split — I only kicked Remus out, _too!_ I don’t even know _when_ they managed to escape!”

Logan sighed, “You do not hold _all_ the blame.” He told the other side, “As _Logic,_ I could have seen that it was an emotionally charged decision, made in a time of anger and panic. But I didn’t.”

Patton brought his knees up, hugging them, “It’s not your job to keep me in line, Logan.” He said, sounding miserable again, “It’s not _fair_ to blame yourself.”

“On the contrary,” Logan returned, “it _is_ my job to balance you all out, and prevent everyone from making irresponsible and illogical decisions.”

Patton set his chin on his knees, sounding tired, “I guess we’ve _both_ made some mistakes, then.”

“Yes,” Logan agreed, “we all have.” 

— — —

_Deceit was falling._

_Deceit was falling and he was falling down down down into the endless black. Where was his hat? It had flown off, probably. But his gloves? And his jacket? No, wait, he had a capelet, right? Who was he?_

_A large eye blinked at him, inspecting him like a human would to an animal in a cage. It was large, impossibly so, perhaps as large as he was. Its iris was changing colors impossibly fast, a redgoldgreenbluebrown medley of colors. The eye was reptilian, much like Deceit’s own. It blinked, and Deceit took a step back. He got the feeling he was being scrutinized, like it was seeing more than just him._

_(Rat-tat-_ tat)

_And then it was gone, and a Nightmare in its place. Lying stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet and falling, down, down, down._

_His ribs hurt. Blood trickled out of his nose and mouth, and he coughed. That made his ribs hurt even more._

_(Rat-tat-_ tat)

_“Deceit!” Remus’s frantic face appeared in his vision, “No no no no no_ no! _Dee,” he begged, “you’re_ fine. _Tell me you’re fine._ Please, _Dee Dee, you_ gotta _be alright!”_

_Deceit reached one hand up to his ribs. His torso was slick with blood. Was he dying? He was dying. Nonononono he didn’t_ want _to die. Thomas_ needed _him. He was so_ close _he couldn’t die. He had to—he still had to—_

_“Hey. Hey hey hey hey hey.” Remus slapped his face gently, “Look at me. You’re fine. You’re_ fine. _Don’t— you can’t close your eyes. P-please, Dee, stay with me._ Please, _I can’t — I can’t—_ please.” 

_Deceit blinked, and then suddenly Remus wasn’t there anymore. He was alone in his room, staring at himself in the mirror._

_And suddenly Deceit knew he was in a memory. A memory that he absolutely did_ not _like._

_But he was powerless to stop himself as he glared into his own tear-stained gaze. He was shaking, hands gripping his sink. A tear spilled over onto his ungloved hand. His_ stupid _hand with his_ stupid _scales. God, he was so awful. Those_ scales _were awful. He hated them he hated them he_ hated _them. Fuck, he hated_ himself. _He just wanted them_ gone. 

_Deceit sucked in a breath. Something hot in his chest rose. Hot and painful and tight. His chest hurt with every breath. He hated his scales. He hated everything about them. They were ugly and awful and gross and slimy and he wanted them_ gone _. He wanted them gone and he wanted them_ off. _He wanted them off off they had to get off his face they were_ wrong _they had to get_ off.

_This went kinda fuzzy for a while after that, but before he had even realized what he was doing, his face was a mess of tears and blood._

_He stayed in his room for a week after that. When he finally got something to eat, he wouldn’t answer Remus’s prodding questions about the patches of missing scales._

_Deceit felt a presence to his left. He turned, and standing before him was the Dragon Witch, tall and graceful as her orange form inspected him from where she lay._

Hello _, Deceit said. Or did he say it? Shouldn’t he be more scared?_

_The Dragon Witch rumbled with laughter, “Oh,_ absolutely, _but dreams are odd like that, aren’t they?”_

_Deceit nodded. That sounded reasonable, ”_ Okay _,” he agreed._

_The Dragon Witch blinked, her giant maw giving the impression of satisfaction, “I think_ you,” _she rumbled, “are going to speed things up for me,”_

_And then the Dragon Witch twitched her talon, and Deceit felt like he was about to find out what the other sides felt like when he hypnotized them._

_— — —_

Deceit woke up feeling like someone had injected pop rocks into his veins. His entire body felt like static. 

_“Fuck,”_ he murmured as he sat up. _Damn_ he was sore. He really shouldn’t have overworked himself.

Deceit shivered as the memories of what had happened sank in. Roman had pulled his _sword_ on him. His _sword._ Roman had been ready to _stab_ him.

Well, it shouldn’t have been too much of a surprise. They _were_ going to throw him into the Subconscious, anyways. Roman just so happened to have a more… _direct_ approach. Perhaps Roman thought that, ‘hey, if he didn’t really die the first time, maybe the second time he’ll _stay_ dead.’

Deceit felt a little queasy.

_Figures._

Another thing that made Deceit uneasy… was the little pattern they had going on. Remus was the only one he hadn’t had to brainwash so far… and Deceit would very much like to _keep_ it that way. Besides, he didn’t even have enough power to enforce another lie, emotionally or otherwise.

Well, there was _one_ thing…

No. No no no. _No._ He wasn’t going to contemplate that. _Nope._ No. He did _not_ just think of doing that. Not only was it dangerous, it was _Remus._ He _couldn’t_ just do _that_ on him! _Nope. Not_ thinking about it. He _wasn’t_ thinking about it. He was _not_ going to think about it. Nope.

Deceit shook his head vigorously. _Nope._ It was _out_ of his mind. He would just have to avoid Remus at all costs. That way, no secrets would be spilled and no tears shed and _nothing extremely embarrassing and dangerous_ happening. Right? 

_Right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Riigggghhttt. _Totally_ not gonna happen. 
> 
> Okay so I have a bullet list of things I wanna comment on bc fuk u that’s why:
> 
> • I couldn’t find a place to write it in, but Remus made a cheese-and-jelly sandwich with some orange juice on the side. _Delicious,_ amiright?
> 
> • Remus was intentionally unnerving Deceit because he was Asserting Dominance after the Shirt Incident. (His thought process: _I’m embarrassed and uncomfortable, so_ he _shall be embarrassed and uncomfortable!_ ) 
> 
> • Virgil was able to break out of the lie Deceit had implanted onto him because his mannerisms were too close to when Virgil lived with the Dark Sides. Deceit’s power has dwindled considerably, and the lie wasn’t able to stay in place. Not sure if I made that clear lmao. 
> 
> • I can hear y’all’s sighing abt Logan from here
> 
> • Last thing, but ffffuuuuuck this is the biggest case of writer’s block I’ve had since July. I barely wrote a thousand words this week :(
> 
> • yeah that’s it have a nice day


	24. OhShit.pdf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Current mood: listening to Roman and Janus’s playlists on repeat and resisting the urge to start yet another wip

Virgil woke up feeling _far_ too warm to be normal. One glance around him told him that _no,_ he _wasn’t_ burning alive, but it was equally as bad. Or perhaps he should be ecstatic? No, maybe just nervous. Being nervous was a reasonable reaction, right? Because he could do that _plenty._

Roman shifted on Virgil’s shoulder, nestling in as he mumbled something about corn. 

He had fallen asleep with _Princey._

_Fuck._

Virgil was absolutely _sure_ that his heart was breaking some sort of record, it was beating so fast. Maybe he _was_ on fire. His face sure felt like it. Could Roman hear his pulse? Oh god, what if he could? And then Roman would wake up and see how red Virgil’s face was and that could _not_ happen. He had to get out of here.

But as Virgil tried to slowly ease out of Roman’s bed, Roman groaned and twisted, and slung his arm over Virgil like he was a teddy-bear.

Oh _fuck._

Virgil’s eyes widened as he _swore_ his heart stopped for a second. Hnnmngh. Roman was really warm and also he was _hugging_ him and kinda _adorable?_ Virgil wasn’t comfortable with that thought. Back _away_ from that thought process _slowly._ He had to get out of here before he had a heart attack. Also, Virgil was a very anxious gay mess. Was he sweating? He _better_ not be. 

And see, well, Virgil _would_ have gotten out of there — he would have gotten out of there in a _jiffy_ (wait, who even _said_ that anymore? Ugh, he was so _embarrassing._ ), but… now that he thought about it, if he left now, would Roman feel bad? Oh _shit,_ was Virgil a horrible person for wanting to leave? Roman had been crying when he had fallen asleep, leaving would make it seem like he _hated_ Roman. But wait— he had fallen asleep _before_ Roman? What if Roman wanted him to leave but Virgil had slept so soundly that he couldn’t wake him up? Was he imposing? But if he left now, that might be even _more_ rude. _Hhhhhh._

Virgil was frozen, one arm propping him up as he tried to figure out what he should do, _Should I stay? Should I leave?_

Roman saved him from his indecision, blinking blearily in the dim glow of his alarm clock as he sat up halfway, “G’back to sleep,” he mumbled sleepily, rubbing his eye with the arm he had hugged Virgil with (no, Virgil did _not_ miss the warmth), “It’s like, three in the morning.”

Virgil did _not_ make any sort of squeak whatsoever. Nope. Didn’t happen. And he did _not_ blush at _all_ when Roman sleepily tugged him back down and slung his arm over him again. Why are you asking anyway, what are ya, a cop?

And now Roman was asleep again. Virgil didn’t think he had even been fully awake —not _really—_ in the first place.

Well, Virgil certainly wasn’t going to go back to sleep anytime soon. He had enough adrenaline in his system to last him a _week._

Princey’s steady, even breaths only served to make Virgil’s heart beat even more erratically.

— — —

Roman woke up to the early morning light shining through his pretend window, an imaginary bird twittering in place of his alarm clock. Six thirty, nice and early. Just like a prince would. Oh, _sure,_ he had a normal alarm clock, but that was so _basic_. How could the _prince_ of _Creativity_ have such a _boring_ way to wake up? He needed the _pizazz_ of a bird to welcome him into the day!

Wait.

Something was off…

Roman lifted his head and scanned his room. Nothing to be out of place. His posters were unharmed, his desk seemed to be in the same disarray as yesterday, Virgil seemed fine, and his collection of Disney stuffies was untouched…

Roman shrugged and lay back down, _Guess it was nothing._

_Wait, what was that third one again?_

Roman’s eyes flashed open to see Virgil, his face startlingly close to his own. They must have fallen asleep on each other. And…now Roman was… hugging...Virgil…

Roman almost jolted out of the bed. _Dammit, Roman! You_ know _he doesn’t like being touched! Now look what you’ve done! You’ve gone and hugged him while he’s sleeping! Talk about_ clingy!

Awoken by the sudden movement, Virgil blinked his eyes open. He froze as they both stared at each other, his expression filled with what looked like panic, undoubtedly noting that their faces were _way_ too close for comfort. 

With a little _‘eep’,_ Virgil jerked his head back, only to hit his head on the wall, _“Aggh!”_ he cried out, one hand reaching up to protect the back of his head.

“Ah! Sorry!” Roman apologized, sitting up in a hurry and hovering over Virgil worriedly, unsure what to do with his hands.

“No, it’s alright,” Virgil said with a wince, “s’fine.”

Virgil sat up, still rubbing his head, but, with as close as they were, bonked his forehead with Roman’s. Roman jerked his head backwards, but after a quick thought of _oh shit this bed isn’t made for two people,_ he ungracefully fell off his bed. With his _outstanding_ reflexes, he caught himself on his elbo—wait, nope, he failed. His head _thunk_ ed painfully on his floorboards, and his elbow rang with a tingly, pin-and-needle like pain.

But wait—the torture wasn’t over. The blankets that were wrapped around the both of them dragged Virgil down along with Roman. Roman barely had time to feel the pain of his injuries before a flailing, terrified Virgil fell on top of him. Fortunately, Virgil was able to catch himself and stuck out his hand to stop from banging his head on Roman’s… which resulted in some very awkward eye contact for about three seconds as Virgil basically pinned Roman on the floor.

Roman just barely had time to assess the situatation and think, _So, I’m gay,_ before Virgil yelped and rolled off of him. 

They lay there for about… ten seconds, Roman would say, but it could’ve easily been an hour. Time was weird when Virgil was around.

Finally, Virgil let out a long sigh, “Sorry about that.”

Roman sat up quickly, looking at the anxious side. Should he have apologized first? Dammit, he was so bad at apologizing! _Get it together, Princey!_ “No no no,” he said quickly, “ _I’m_ the one who should be sorry!” He hesitated, then looked away, feeling an oh-so-familiar burn in the pit of his stomach, “For more reasons than one, I’m afraid.”

Roman heard the rustling of Virgil’s clothes as he sat up. His voice had an unreadable note in it, “We went over this last night, didn’t we?”

Roman shrugged, “I don’t _know,”_ he said, playing with the fuzz of his ‘Dream and Dream Big’ rug nearby, “it’s just—I _know_ I was awful back then. I was an egotistical _jerk,_ I didn’t care about anyone else. Heck, I was even a jerk to _Patton._ I—I didn’t—I didn’t even—” his throat closed up. 

_I didn’t even care when you left,_ was what he was going to say. How could he have been so cruel? How could he have been so—so—

Roman felt Virgil’s cold hand on his shoulder as the anxious side scooched closer, “I already forgave you.” he said softly, “And I _still_ forgive you, for _all_ of it.”

“But you don’t _understand!”_ Roman protested, feeling tears start to gather in the corners of his eyes, _dammit, Roman do_ not _cry. A_ prince _wouldn’t cry,_ “You—don’t understand how _awful_ I was! When you—I _drove_ you to—and I didn’t even—” 

A tear started to slip out, and Roman ducked his head as he wiped it away. He’d already cried on Virgil _once_ already, the anxious side was probably _sick_ of him by now. Roman should probably just shut his mouth so Virgil could get his eyeliner reapplied and get ready for breakfast, he didn’t want to be here—

“Roman,” Virgil’s voice cut through Roman’s spiral as the anxious side grabbed his shoulder, and pulled him up to face him. Virgil’s face was serious, with his eyebrows pulled together in an expression of concern, “is this about me ducking out?”

Roman slumped in a very un-princelike manner. It seemed like pretty much everything he’d done lately was un-princelike, “Yeah,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact with Virgil. Had his floor always been this dusty? A _prince_ wouldn’t have dusty floors.

“Roman,” Virgil snapped to get his attention, voice urgent, and set both his hands in Roman’s shoulders when he looked up, staring intently at him, “do you think it was _your_ fault?”

Roman looked up, now, swiping at his eyes to stop the tears from spilling over. It didn’t work, “I—I mean, it might as well be, r—right?” He chuckled, high pitched and anxious. There was no humor in it, “I—I kinda, y’know, _tormented_ you for as long as I can remember. Th—there’s not much I _didn’t_ do, to be honest.” He threw his head back in another laugh, full of bitterness and self-deprecation. He looked back at Virgil, one, two more tears making their way down his face, “S-some prince _I_ am.”

Virgil wiped away a tear from Roman’s face with his thumb in an uncharacteristically gentle gesture, “ _Princey_ ,” he murmured, and his voice held such a tone—full of mourning and pity and regret and wonder and a _thousand_ other emotions Roman couldn’t even _begin_ to name— that when saying that old, old nickname, that Roman’s breath hitched.

“I didn’t— I _don’t_ blame you. I-I-I _couldn’t_ blame you. You—” Virgil sucked in a breath, then let it out as he resettled his features, then continued in a slightly more steady voice, staring intently at Roman, “Look. I was in a really, _really_ bad place. I felt guilty about leaving D-Deceit and your brother, and I felt guilty for making Thomas feel like shit, and I guess there were a couple other factors, but _don’t_ blame yourself. You were the one who convinced me to come back, remember?”

Roman looked at his floorboards again, “Only after Logan and Patton did that.”

“But you still helped. You helped me be willing to come back.” Virgil told him.

Roman bit his knuckle to keep himself from outright sobbing, avoiding eye contact. Virgil gently pried his hand away, wiping off the slobber with his sleeve, “Stop that.”

Roman couldn’t stop the sob this time, and he swiped at his eyes for the billionth time. Virgil was being so _nice._ He didn’t know—he didn’t know how _villainous_ Roman had acted. Roman hadn’t—he hadn’t _cared._ He didn’t even _care_ when Virgil left—he thought Thomas was _fine_ without him. How could he have ever been so _awful?_

Virgil seemed startled at the new bout of crying, “Princey?”

Roman shook his head, hugging his sides as he looked away, curling in on himself, “You don’t _understand.”_ He choked out, “You don't —you don’t—I didn’t even—”

Virgil seemed uncertain, “Roman?”

“I didn’t care.” Roman blurted. The words felt like he had inhaled smoke from fire made with wet wood, “When you ducked out. A-at first, I-I didn’t even— I-I guess I didn’t _realize_ that you had—had tried to duck out—b-but I _still_ didn’t—” he sniffed wetly, “I’m such a _hypocrite.”_

Virgil’s hand had left his shoulder. It was quiet. Pointedly, accusingly quiet. An ear-splitting, crushing quiet. It was quiet and so quiet and Roman knew — Roman _knew_ , that Virgil _hated_ him now that he know how _awful_ he was and how much of a _fake_ he was and Virgil was _upset_ and _he made him upset god how could he be so_ bad _at this how could he even call himself a_ prince and he should have done this _earlier_ but he _didn’t_ because _he was such a coward_ and now Virgil _knew_ and _fuck_ when did the air get so hard to _breathe—_

Virgil was hugging him.

Perhaps, in a different situation Roman would have gasped. Or started making preparations for the apocalypse. Virgil didn’t _hug_ people, at least not _Roman._ But instead of lingering on that fact, Roman immediately hugged back, wrapping his arms around Virgil’s frame. He sobbed into the soft jacket, pressing his face against Virgil’s chest.

“Please—” Roman gasped out, “Please don’t hate me. _”_

Virgil rubbed the back of his head, his hand cool against Roman’s neck, “Shhh, you’re—you’re sorry, right?” He murmured, “That’s good, I guess. And, I mean, you’d definitely care now,” he faltered slightly, “r-right?”

Roman looked up at Virgil, nodding fanically, “ _God,_ yes.” He wiped at his eyes, “You don’t know _how_ much—you _gotta_ believe me.”

“I do.” Virgil comforted, “And—and I don’t hate you. I, uh, forgive you and stuff.”

Roman chuckled tearily, “Sorry for crying on you so much.” he said as he sat back, embarrassedly wiping his eyes again and sniffing, “Not v-very princelike of—of me.”

“Hey, now, none of that,” Virgil reprimanded, an emo echo of Patton ghosting his tone, “you’re like, the most princely guy here. More than those hetero Disney twats, anyways.”

Roman sniffed, fanning his face to that ugly flush off his cheeks, feeling his face cool down from the crying, “Well, I _know_ you’re not that open to hugs, so…” he gestured at Virgil, “yeah. Sorry.”

Virgil shrugged, his ears flushing slightly, “Well. You know. It, uh,” he sank into his hoodie, messing with his sleeves, as the red from his ears traveled down to his cheeks, “it wasn’t that bad.” He mumbled into his hoodie, almost too low to hear.

And now Roman’s face was red again. He stared at Virgil for a second, feeling his brain turn into Gay Static. It became exponentially quiet as Roman may or may not have forgotten to breathe.

“A-alrighty, then!” Roma’s blurted out suddenly as he scrambled to his feet, “I, uh, I’m just going to go wash my face and—and freshen up a bit, and then Patton should be here in—” he looked at his imaginary invisible watch, “—ten minutes. We can go to breakfast early.”

Virgil’s head swiveled to Roman’s clock, “It’s _seven?”_ He turned to glare at Roman, “That is an _ungodly_ hour.”

“You’ve stayed up for three days once.” Roman reminded him as he walked to his bathroom. He splashed water on his face, muffling his words slightly, “You have _no_ room to complain.”

Roman heard Virgil huff, “Staying _up_ until seven is _entirely_ different and you know it. Why do you wake up so early, anyways? Don’t you need your ‘beauty sleep’?

“I already _am_ beautiful.” Roman bragged, wiping his dripping face with a towel, “I’m like, the most beautiful thing in this whole fucking mindscape.”

“We have the same face,” Virgil deadpanned from where he was sitting, resting his head on his fist, which was resting on his knee as he sat criss-cross applesauce.

Oh, if for _once_ Roman could stop flirting for _one_ second, maybe he’d stop making a fool of himself. But _alas,_ he was too gay to act like a normal human being, and he winked cheekily at Virgil, “I know.” 

...and then he promptly slammed into the doorframe as he tried to exit his room.

“Ouch!” Roman rubbed his nose, looking sheepishly back at Virgil.

Virgil had formed a surprised _‘o’_ with his mouth, ears bright red, but apparently Roman’s humiliation was enough to snap him out of his shock. He smirked, “Smooth.”

“Yep.” Roman heard himself say. Oh god, he _better_ not say anything stupid, “Smoother than... peanut...butter.” 

God _damnit_.

As Roman speedwalked (while trying to look like he _wasn’t_ speedwalking) out his door, he heard Virgil snort with laughter as he followed him. Goddamnit. Did he _really_ say that? Ugh, he was such an _idiot._ And his face was _undoubtedly_ red. The curses of being gay and having a noticeable blush.

Remus, surprisingly, was the only one in the kitchen. He was sitting on the counter, swinging his legs and swigging from a bottle of dish soap. 

“Hello!” Remus chirped, “Top of the mourning to ya!”

(Roman _knew_ he said ‘mourning’ instead of ‘morning’, because this was _Remus_ they were talking about and also he pulled out a skull from his armpit like some gross magician)

“Greetings, dear brother o’ mine!” Roman yawned out, stretching. He was somewhat surprised that Remus was actually up and at ‘em this early. Half the time he stayed in his room all day. Well, that changed when Dee had arrived, so hopefully that meant he was getting better?

“Sup,” Virgil mumbled as he walked into the kitchen from behind. 

Remus’s head swiveled towards the anxious side, eyes widening. He comically spat out his dish soap like some cartoon character and dropped his skull in surprise. It disappeared with a soft _poof._

_“Speaking_ of tops!” Remus exclaimed, “You finally—”

Before Remus could finish his sentence, Virgil _appeared_ behind him, crouching on the counter as he wrapped his arm around Roman’s brother’s neck.

“Finish that sentence and you won’t have a mustache anymore.” Virgil threatened. 

Goodness, was Roman on _fire?_ He must be, because he just _knew_ that his face was firetruck red, “ _God,_ Remus, we— _no_ — we just—”

Remus cackled, “Fresh out of the bedroom and you’re _already_ choking me, Virgil? You got competition, Roman!”

Virgil’s face was red as Roman spluttered, although with anger or embarrassment, Roman couldn’t tell, “Shut _up.”_ The anxious side hissed, “You’ll wake everyone up! And _fuck_ no, we didn’t do _that!_ We just fell asleep!” 

_“Sure—_ mmhnph!” Remus was cut off by Virgil slapping his hand over his mouth. He didn’t stop stalking, happily chatting and probably spewing all sorts of inappropriate garbage.

Dee stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing his eye, “Why is it so loud, again? And why is Patton late for getting us up?”

Suddenly, Virgil’s face turned into one of pure disgust, and he hit Remus in the face with the hand that had been on Roman’s brother’s mouth. “Did you just _lick_ me?” Virgil screeched, hitting Remus again with the base of his palm, “You fucking _licked_ me, you foul bastard!”

“What did you expect?” Remus cackled as Virgil smacked him again, “— _ooh, kinky!_ Roman, Virgey’s cheating on you!”

Roman couldn’t seem to get any actual words out of his mouth.

“ _Shut! Up!”_ Virgil summoned a pillow and _whapped_ Remus with it. Repeatedly.

“Oh—Dee!” Remus chirped in between smacks, “Pa—atton said—something about—talking to — Loogie—earlier! To—apologize—or something!”

Virgil paused and made a face of distaste, “Ugh, _Logan.”_

“I’m going to consume his spinal cord like Pez candy!” Remus exclaimed, accidentally smacking Virgil in the face as he waved his arms wildly.

_“Hey!”_ Virgil shouted indignantly.

“Let go of me, then, if you don’t want me it hit you!” Remus shouted back, waving his arms even more wildly.

“What did Logan do, again?” Dee asked. Damn. That side looked _exhausted._ And why wasn’t he making eye contact with Roman? Roman felt like something had happened…

A flash of yellow. Roman lost his train of thought.

“He’s a _dick!”_ Remus exclaimed, as Virgil was still attempting to choke him out.

At the same time, Virgil replied, “Because _he_ can’t keep his opinions to himself,” 

Remus hit Virgil in the eye, and the anxious growled, “I’ll get you for that, you brat!”

“I’m technically _older_ than you!” Remus complained.

“So?” Virgil challenged, “ _I’m_ the one with you in a headlock!”

Dee sighed, massaging his temples, “I’ll just make omelets.” He said as he trudged to the stove.

Remus scrabbled at his neck, trying to find purchase so he could bite Virgil’s arm.

Dee got out a pan, and without looking at them, tiredly said, “Virgil, Remus, get off the counter and stop fighting, or else I’ll make you two do the dishes.”

The threat would be fruitless, of course, Roman predicted, Virgil and Remus didn’t take orders from _anybody. Especially_ if they were fighti—

Remus and Virgil immediately let go of each other and slid to the ground, glaring sulkily at each other.

Roman frowned thoughtfully at Dee’s back.

_Huh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hnnng, good old fashioned Prinxiety, amiright???
> 
> So we got that angst, right?? But then, please consider: _fluff_ , for once. 
> 
> Tbh, rn, as I’m editing, I am laughing my ass off over this and also stressing the hell out over this bc hhhhh there was a wide range of emotions in this and I really hope this came out the way it was meant to and basically aaaaaaaaaa yeah ignore me I’m sorry anajahahsh
> 
> Oh a side note,,,, hnnnnggh. _School_ , my mortal enemy. There was a zoom during Thomas’s livestream today and Im still so mad that I had to miss it...there’s something so much cooler abt watching it real-time, y’know?
> 
> Anyways, I’m rambling. Pls enjoy the awkward gay idiots :)


	25. Into the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ansjshsb my sister’s been forcing me to watch bts compilations all day and I forgot to upload this lmao. Anyways, enjoy!

This was the exact _opposite_ of what Deceit wanted to do today.

“Come on!” Remus begged from across the table, “ _Pleeeease?_ It’ll be _fun!”_

Deceit sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Remus, I _don’t_ really feel like taking a hike right now.”

“But I _found_ something! And I want you to _see_ it! _”_ Remus made what was probably supposed to be puppy-dog eyes; all it did was make him look like he watched people while they were sleeping. (Which really wasn’t _that_ inaccurate…)

“He’s not going to stop bugging you about it.” Virgil pointed out from beside Deceit, “Because he doesn’t know when to _shut up.”_ with that, he pointedly glared at Remus.

Deceit sighed again, “I know.” _Believe me, I_ know.

“Oh, Virgey, you flatter me!” Remus giggled.

“Why do you even _want_ him to go with you into the Imagination?” Roman asked his brother.

Remus huffed, “I _told_ you! I _found_ something! I want him to see it!”

“Remus…” Roman said warningly.

The brothers had a stare down for a couple of seconds, Remus’s expression going from defiant to pleading, Roman’s going from stern to weary.

Finally, Roman sighed in defeat, _“Fine._ Whatever.”

Remus cackled in triumph, “ _Yay!_ Dee, you’re coming!”

“Wait—” Deceit started to object. He rather thought that _he_ should be the one to decide whether he went with Remus or not.

But obviously, no one _else_ thought so. Remus leapt from his seat and stood on the table, grabbing Deceit’s wrist and _yank_ ing him forward.

Whereas the act _should’ve_ made Deceit smack his forehead on the table, he instead fell through, into a cacophony of colors.

— — —

It lasted only for a second, but if Deceit was someone who wasn’t used to it, he would have thrown up. He recognized the disorientation, the sudden shifting of gravity, and twisted so that his feet were facing towards the new down.

Deceit landed with a _squelch,_ and _immediately_ felt an indescribable _tug,_ as if someone had wrapped a string around his collarbone and was pulling him along. He started with surprise, and stumbled in that direction, yelping slightly.

Beside him, Remus cackled with laughter, “You landed on your feet! Oh, you’re _good!”_

Deceit glared in distaste at his now mud-splattered pants and shoes, “I appreciate the warning.” He said dryly. Of course, there _hadn’t_ been any warning, as was the true Remus fashion.

Remus giggled, “I’m sure you do! Now, let’s go!”

And with that, he started marching towards a big, wall-like structure, as if the landscape had just decided that gravity was now to the side. (Which, in fact, it had.)

Remus didn’t even hesitate from setting his foot down on the sideways ground, and walked virtually upwards without a hitch. Deceit made a small show of hesitating, even though this was like second nature to him. Wouldn’t do to arouse suspicion. Deceit had to be careful.

“Come on!” Remus shouted from above him, “We still got a ways to go! We don’t want to be here at lunchtime, now do we?”

Deceit sighed as he stepped onto the platform, the familiar disorientation righting ‘forward’ as the new ‘down’. He knew what happened at noon, “What happens at noon?”

“Gravity starts to _fall!”_ Remus chirped. Deceit could tell he was waiting for Deceit to ask the question.

Deceit sighed again as he put on a burst of speed to keep up with Remus. _Damn_ Remus’s long legs. He knew what he was supposed to ask, “Like the show?”

Remus cackled again, “Like the _show!”_

Deceit had had this conversation before. _Gravity Falls is his favorite,_ he remembered, “Is that one your favorite?”

_“Yup!”_ Came the reply, Remus popping the ‘p’.

“Interesting.” Was all Deceit could think of to say.

Meanwhile his inner commentary was much more forthcoming. With every step his mind chanted _why why why_ and with every other breath he wondered _why why why_ and he didn’t _know_ why and _why_ did Remus betray him and _why_ did Remus bring him here and _why_ was Remus acting like this and _why_ couldn’t Deceit bring himself to hate him?

Deceit could hate the Lights, he could even muster up some hatred for _Virgil,_ because he had left him. They _all_ had left him, and Deceit had _every right_ to hate them.

But… he _couldn’t_ hate Remus. Hell, Remus could outright _kill_ him — and Deceit _knew_ what it was like to die — and _Deceit wouldn’t hate him._

And that _terrified_ Deceit. 

— — —

Remus was excited! He was going to show Dee the warmest place in the mindscape! Deceit had _always_ complained about the cold. Dee would love it! 

“Remind me where we’re going again?” Dee asked to the right of Remus.

“You’ll like it!” Remus chirped as they reached another bend in gravity.

Dee sighed, “That didn’t answer my question.”

“I know!” Remus replied.

“How much longer are we going to have to walk?” Dee asked, apparently giving up on getting an answer to his previous question.

Remus laughed for no reason other than he wanted to, “We just gotta go into the woods after this! Don’t worry, I won’t do anything creepy!” He turned to wiggle his eyebrows at Dee, “Unless you _want_ me to, that is.”

Dee made a little _‘urk’_ noise, making a face, “I’ll pass.”

Remus shrugged, ignoring how ~~Deceit Deceit Deceit~~ he sounded ~~he sounds like him I miss him I miss him I miss him,~~ “Suit yourself!”

They walked in a semi-silence for a minute or two, save from the distant screeching and wars, and the ever-so-often _pop_ of a bubble bursting, or the _scrunchscrunchmllchmlkmlekthhaa_ of a creature eating a carcass.

They came to another fold in gravity, except this was the last one in this area, and provided a vantage point from which you could see a large chunk of Remus’s side of the mindscape. Dee stumbled slightly, then straightened with a mumble of a stray root.

“What’s over there?” Dee asked with an odd note to his tone. He pointed northwest. In _that_ direction, where a big scar in the earth was made

Remus couldn’t stop his hands from clenching. As he stared towards the blemish (okay, well, a more blemish-y spot than all the others) on his land. That was where...that was where the Dragon Witch had killed Deceit.

And then Remus had _destroyed_ her.

Remus inhaled a deep breath against the wave of emotions ~~_don’t let him see don’t let him see too wild too wild you’ll hurt him if you get upset weird weird weird deep breath think of bugs you’re fine fine fine,_~~ “Nothing,” he replied, perhaps harsher than he intended. He cleared his throat and said in a much more chipper tone, “I mean, _that_ place? Nothing’s over _there,_ silly! Absolutely _nothing.”_

Nothing _could_ be there, not after what Remus had done to it.

Dee made an odd face at him. It—it looked like the unreadable expression Deceit would get whenever Remus lied. But Remus had always had an overactive imagination. _(Duh._ He was _Creativity._ It was just—just wishful thinking. _Obviously.)_

How silly he had been back then, lying even though he knew that Deceit would be able to tell when he was, not that it happened often. Remus liked to be _out_ and _free_ and _no holding back anything ever._

Well, Remus hadn’t really been doing that lately… it was funny, as soon as Deceit, the very _being_ of lies died, Remus had started the habit of lying more. He had started keeping thoughts from spilling out his head like keeping blood from spilling out a wound. Or vomit. It was a lot like trying to hold back vomit. Painful to do so, useless in the end! Fun fun _fun!_ Remus had done that a _lot_ of times! Sometimes, he had done it on _purpose!_ It was _really_ painful then. One time, it took a while before Remus could use his vocal chords again!

Well, no time for thoughts like those! Remus had to show Dee the place he had made! He’d love it! 

Remus moved onwards, some of the spring gone from his step. Wouldn’t be long now, it was in the middle of the forest in front of them, by the Landslide Without Any Land. It had formed a couple nights ago, and then a meteor had smashed through the trees and heated up the place to about six hundred degrees (Remus had checked it out. His blood had literally boiled! His skin had caught fire after a little bit and got _really_ gooey, too!), but then there was a flood, and then a really bad drought, all over the course of three days, of course, also, there was this one point where there was acid rain… 

Well, there were a lot of things that happened, but now the spot was a large clearing in the forest, in the perfect spot for sunning! Remus had seen Dee shivering a lot, so he was bound to love it! It would be a lot better than that ol’ mechanical heating lamp, anyways. _Au naturel,_ Remus liked to say, and heating lamps were not _au naturel_. Too direct. Where they were headed, Dee wouldn’t even have to shift over to let the heat reach a different spot! The heat was all around! Like they were in a convection bake oven! And then the gingerbread house lady would eat them while they were still crispy! Or maybe, the gingerbread house lady would save them for la—

“Feel free to take a breath _anytime.”_ Decei— _Dee’s_ deadpan voice came from slightly behind him.

Remus blinked in surprise as he turned. He hadn’t realized that he had been talking. Oh well! At least now he wouldn’t have to remember his entire thought process to explain it to Dee!

Remus looked around. Wow, they sure had walked pretty far while he had rambled! They were almost there! It was pretty warm, now! The trees were pretty tall around here, weren’t they? And thicc! They sure had to be, to survive in this place!

Dee’s voice sounded very disturbed, “Please don’t call trees ‘thicc’ _ever_ again, thank you very much.”

Remus cackled, “What _else_ would I call them? _Phat?”_

Dee groaned, “That’s somehow _worse.”_

Remus giggled, “Come on! We’re almost there!”

Remus snatched Dee’s wrist, despite the other side’s protests about running, and sprinted towards the spot. It was close! And warm! 

Dee stumbled a couple times, but Remus kept dragging him until they reached the clearing. 

It was a wide clearing, made by the landslide (even though there weren’t any mountains for the land to slide off of), and warmed by the sun, and meteorite that had fallen. The flood had served to make all the rocks smooth, perfect for sunbathing!

Dee was breathing heavily, but he looked around the clearing. Almost tentatively, he slid his jacket off his shoulders. (Remus’s breath hitched slightly. And really, how could you blame him? He could see Dee’s _arms!)_

“It _is_ warm!” De said, delighted, “It’s—” he yawned, _“—really_ warm.”

Oh! Remus was glad Dee was getting sleepy. He doubted that Dee had gotten a good night’s sleep in a while. Which probably wasn’t good, seeing as he hadn’t even been in the mindscape for a month… 

Wow, not even a month yet! It was strange how quickly Dee had settled into a schedule with them.

Remus… didn’t like that. It _should_ be a struggle to accept Dee. He should feel guilty over how quickly he had accepted his presence! He was trying to _replace_ Deceit! That should be unforgivable!

But… he looked so much _like_ him. He _acted_ like him, sometimes. And he was so _nice._ Even… even nicer than _Deceit_ had been.

(Remus didn’t like that thought.)

Remus felt like he should say something to Dee, maybe not now, but maybe just to… welcome him? Remus didn’t know. He _knew_ that Dee wasn’t Deceit, but there was always some part that didn’t really believe it, like it had been before Deceit died. No matter what disguise Deceit had been in, Remus knew it was him.

And what was he supposed to say, anyways, to the person who reminded him so much of his Deceit? _I’ve been so fucking in love with you—but not really_ you— _for as long as I can remember but you’re so fucking_ dense _that you could never tell but then you—_ he _—_ died _but then you came back and now you aren’t_ you _anymore and all of my work was_ erased _and I miss you—_ him _— so much it_ hurts _and I’m terrified when I think of the future because the_ real _you won’t be in it and I know things won’t ever be the same?_

Yeah, that would go down just _swell._

Remus bit his lip in sudden conflict as Dee wandered over onto a stone and immediately stretched out, making a content noise.

And if that didn’t make Remus absolutely melt (like ice cream in the sun. Or the polar icecaps.), to see an (almost-)Deceit do that, _nothing_ would. Except seeing the _real_ Deceit do that.

(Remus felt a sad now.)

(Well, at least he had rocks to play with.)

— — —

This was the _shit._ The _good_ cush. Deceit hadn't been _this_ warm since he died. It felt like he was wrapped in a heated blanket. The rock underneath him burned _just_ the right amount. How was this astounding place formed again? Right, a meteor. Remus should have meteors destroy his place more often. Wait, didn’t he mention a drought? Or was it a flood? Didn’t matter, as long as Deceit got to be this warm again. Even if it didn’t _quite_ melt away the perpetual cold that seemed to follow Deceit like a ghost, this sure came close. 

Deceit was comfortable, and if he opened his eyes he'd be able to see Remus on his own rock, seeing how long he could stand the burn of it without having to jump away. Deceit was _warm_ and it was _perfect._

If you couldn’t tell, Deceit was _pretty_ happy to be warm. Had he forgotten to mention that? Because he was. He hadn’t realized how cold he had been since he died until now.

Fuck, forget being this warm since he had _died,_ Deceit wasn’t sure when he had been this warm since _ever._ Okay, maybe an exaggeration because he had _literally_ been set on fire three separate times, but who had time for that? Details, details. Deceit couldn’t bother himself with those. He had to… had to…

Oh. He didn’t have any responsibilities to worry about. That was… nice. It was _nice._ It was…

Hm.

Well, it was okay, he guessed. It _had_ to be. Because this was the only way to survive, right?

Deceit wondered when he became more focused on survival than helping Thomas. 

Did that make him a bad side? Did it make him practical? Was it self- _centered_ , or was it self- _preserving?_ God, this was like the moral dilemmas Thomas put himself though. How could he stand it? _Exhausting._

Deceit blinked his eyes open, watching Remus through half-lidded eyes. Was he playing with the meteorite in the middle of the clearing. Was he trying to _lick_ it? 

Of _course._ This dumbass was trying to lick the meteorite. No, wait, now he was attempting to _climb_ it. Deceit wasn’t sure if Remus had a ridiculously high pain tolerance or had some protection against his creations, but Deceit was glad he had it. He could taste the smell of burnt hair and flesh from over here. _Nasty._

Perhaps it was the fact that Deceit was sleep-deprived and the heat was making him even more tired, but he almost found himself chuckling as half-watched Remus. Damn, that man was _really_ stupid. He was going to burn his hands off at this rate. Why was he still hanging around, again? Deceit thought Remus would just drop him off and leave. It’s not like Deceit was planning on doing anything else but laying down at the moment.

Deceit yawned. Well, it was good for Remus to get his energy out. He knew from experience that it wasn’t smart to keep him cooped up anywhere. His energy was like a pressure cooker. The energy kept building and building up, and if opened wrong, it’d explode, killing everyone instantly. So it was kinda important to let him get all the energy out in other ways; slowly and without any fire or explosions, because Remus could wield both of them expertly, but almost _always_ used them as if he had never been given _any_ brain cells _ever._

Deceit’s half-lidded eyelids began to droop as he watched Remus scurry around. He didn’t fight it. After all, it’s not like it was possible to have a nightmare in the midst of pure bliss, right?

_(Ha)_

— — —

_Deceit blinked slowly on his rock, watching the wind rustle the trees above him. It was peaceful. He was glad he had come out here, where he could into his tank top and bask in the sun like this. He could almost forget about his troubles and the failure of capitalism._

_The sun shone on him as he hissed lazily, “Man, I need to do this_ less _often. I_ haven’t _needed a break.”_

_Deceit remembered Virgil ranting once about how he couldn’t ever take a break, “Imagine the things that could happen, Dee!” He had cried, frustratedly pulling at his hoodie strings, “If I even let up a_ little _bit, Thomas is going to either_ die, _or make a_ fool _of himself. That_ idiot _Princey is_ delusional! _If_ I _wasn’t there to make sure Thomas didn’t try out for plays, or sing in public, or sit with that one group at lunch, Princey would just take control and wreck Thomas’s already cruddy reputation! He’s a menace! He doesn’t know what’s best for Thomas!_ Thomas _doesn’t know what’s best for Thomas!”_

_“You got_ that _right.” Deceit and Remus had murmured at the same time. Ah. Solidarity._

_Deceit snorted on his rock, being brought to the present by the high-pitched warble of a bird. He looked up at the bluish-grey creature, “Why, hello there, friend,” he said genially, “I was falling asleep, and you woke me up. I bet I could eat you. Do snakes eat birds? Well, I could at least eat your eggs. But you wouldn’t let me eat your eggs, would you? Because those are yours, and not mine.” Deceit sneered upwards at the bird, who was staring innocently at him. That fucker. Deceit shrugged, “Ah, whatever, flawed society, blah blah blah, you’re dead.” He snapped, and the bird fell to the ground. Served him right for interrupting his sunning._

_Deceit heard a rustle in the bushes, and the noises of people coming his way. His stomach jumped in alarm as he sat up halfway, snapping his regular clothes into place._

_“I swear, I heard someone talking!” He heard someone—probably Roman—exclaim, “They were talking about—” Roman’s head peeked through the bushes (which Dee had put up_ specifically _to keep everyone out), and blinked in surprise, “—Deceit?”_

_Deceit cursed internally,_ Shit! _Why had Roman come so close to the border? Now he was probably going to make a big_ deal _of this. Deceit just wanted to sun in peace, dammit!_

_Deceit sat up on his rock, swinging his legs,_ “No, _it’s_ not _me.” He said, sarcasm dripping from his tone. He slid off the warm rock, and brushed pass Roman, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe I_ _have to resume a good session of sunning myself”_

_Roman stuck his arm out to block him, “Not so fast,” he said, tone dark, “Who were you talking to, and what are you doing in_ my _territory?”_

_“Oh, and that’s totally your business,” Deceit shot back, “and for the record, this is_ my _territory, and I’d_ appreciate _it if you would_ leave.”

_Roman growled under his breath, but Deceit ignored him, strolling past confidently (haha, he was_ terrified) _and making his way deeper into his side of the Imagination._

_“Roman?” Deceit heard the muffled call to his direct left, through the bushes he had conjured, “What did you find?”_

_“A filthy_ snake.” _Deceit turned around at the sudden venom in Roman’s voice. Uhh...that was kinda... weird. In the slightly scary way. What did he do wrong, again?_

_Deceit feigned a cool attitude, despite his growing unease, “Well, I wouldn’t say_ filthy.” _Deceit replied, studying his nails, “I actually_ don’t _have a strict hygiene and beauty routine whatso_ ever _. I_ don’t _have to be careful with my scales, at_ all. _Actually,” he looked back up at Roman, a sly smile on his face, “I would say that_ you _are the filthy one, in this situation.”_

_Roman spluttered, “Hey—but—no—I bathe_ regularly!” _He managed to get out, offended and indignant._

_Deceit’s eyes widened in mock surprise,_ “Really? _I’m sorry,” he ‘apologized’, “I must have confused you with your brother. How silly of me, but it’s a common mistake, really,” Deceit waved his hand, “You_ do _act_ so _much_ like _each other.”_

_“I believe we would_ all _appreciate it if you didn’t compare Roman to Remus.” Logan stepped out, adjusting his glasses._

_Deceit scowled at the logical side, “Fine, then, I_ will. _Now would you_ please _go back to Roman’s side of the Imagination? I actually wanted some_ peace _and_ quiet _for once.”_

_Virgil shuffled out, probably having found the same gap through the bushes that the others did (Deceit_ really _had to fix that later), “That’s doubtful.” he said, “He loves messing with our heads. He speaks in lies, remember?”_

_Deceit rolled his eyes. Did Virgil_ seriously _choose_ now _to be suspicious? Well, he supposed he_ was _suspicious all the time, but the_ one _time Deceit decided that he wasn’t going to do any “evil plotting”, everyone gets on his case. How_ fair.

_“Virgil, how_ nice _to see you again.” Deceit said, resigning to the fact that he would actually have to socially interact, “It’s been so_ long. _I suppose you would have forgotten that I can actually speak the truth as well.”_

_“What’s crack-a-lackin’, kiddos?” Patton_ (ugh) _popped up from_ wherever _they were coming from, a too-bright smile on his face, “Did y’all decide to have a_ ‘T’ _party without me?”_

_“I do believe that you have already made that joke.” Logan commented._

_“Oh!” Patton giggled, “I guess that one is_ hissss _tory_ , _then!”_

_Logan groaned,_ “Why _do you feel the need to antagonize me this way?”_

_Deceit slowly backed up as Patton cracked another pun. (To be perfectly honest, which was,_ admittedly, _rare, Deceit hadn’t even known that ‘infinitesimal’ was a word.)_

_“No, you don’t_ get _to leave.” Virgil protested over Logan’s outraged shriek, “We want to know what you were doing, snooping in Roman’s side of the Imagination.”_

“I _was the one sssnooping around?” Deceit hissed, indignation rising,_ “You’re _the ones_ tresssspassing!”

_“Nonsense!” Roman dismissed, “Now tell us what you were planning, Doctor Doofensnake! We will not fall prey to your lies today!”_

_“I_ literally was _doing something wrong!” Deceit’s gloved fingers dug into his palms in frustration, “I_ wasn’t _just_ sunning, _goddamnit!”_

_And, in a terrible twist of fate,_ Remus _popped up next to his brother, bloody and holding his morningstar “What’s happening?” He asked, head tilted._

_Deceit pinched the bridge of his nose, a harsh sigh escaping him. Why, of_ all _times he could have shown his face, was_ Remus _here? All the Light Sides in one place was bad enough._ “ _I’m_ not _out of here.” Deceit announced, “It’s_ not _like I was just trying to_ relax _or anything.”_

_And with that, Deceit stormed away, hands still balled up into fists. How_ dare _they kick him out of his_ own _territory? And he couldn’t even_ fight _them, for Thomas’s sake!_ Fuck!

_Deceit’s feet found a slightly worn path as he slowed down, the leaves of the trees around him turning as red as blood. Looked like he had fallen into autumn. He shivered as a cold breeze blew around him, tasting of rain and dirt and dew and decaying leaves._

_He could hear the rest of the sides calling him, something along the lines of “wait!”, or was it “hate!”? Deceit thought he heard, “it’s not safe!” or perhaps, “you’re a fake!”. Ominous either way, really._

_Meh, whatever. They were slow, and he was_ way _ahead. They couldn’t bother him as long as he kept quiet. He could take care of himself, anyways._

_And it_ was _quiet, everything silent except for Deceit’s footsteps on the soft leaves (disappointing, really. The best leaves were crunchy leaves), the picking up wind, and...rumbling?_

_Deceit stumbled against seemingly nothing, tripping on and falling onto what looked like thin air. He yelled in surprise, and stumbled back when what used to be a clear path rippled into orange scales._

_Deceit looked up into the ever-changing eyes of the Dragon Witch._

_The Dragon Witch rumbled with laughter, “Oh, hello. I see you’re close.” Deceit took several quick steps back and tripped, falling down and scrambling away and he lowered her head towards him, inspecting him, “Are you ready, yet?”_

_Confusion roiled in Deceit’s stomach, and he didn’t think he could answer even if he wanted to, even if he_ had _an answer._

_The Dragon Witch sighed at the lack of response, “Oh, well. Soon._ Very _soon. You’re getting weaker by the day! Not too long until the_ real _fun begins!”_

_The Dragon Witch cackled impossibly loud, and Deceit flinched. The Dragon Witch noticed, and smirked a terrifying, reptilian smirk, “Oh, go resume your nightmare or whatever. I do enjoy hearing you cry. Just hurry up, okay? I have someone I want to see again soon, and you’re slowing things down.”_

_And Deceit fell down, down, down, into the mind-numbing terror of the Subconscious._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet some of y’all are gonna guess what’s gonna happen, but guess what?? I’m not going to spoil anything!!! Because!!! That is what a good author does!!! Can you hear my internal struggle??? But I won’t spoil anything!!! Okay??? Okay!!!
> 
> Anyways yeah my tumblr is @astronomical-bagel if you ever wanna chat. My dms are always open!!


	26. Why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

_It’s after me._

Lying was running.

_I have to get away._

Lying was crying.

_Run run run run don’t let it catch you don’t let it catch you_ don’t let it ca

Pain _seared_ through Deceit’s back.

He sat up, terrified and disoriented. Where was he? He had to get way he had to run he had to _escape_ because _it was after him and he could feel its teeth it was killing him killing him he was going to die it hurt so bad it was after him he had to_ run he had to r

“Dee?” A voice to his left. Who…? _Remus._ Remus was good. Remus was safe. 

A hand waved into his field of vision. Deceit immediately grabbed it. Remus was _here._ Deceit was _here._ Not there. Deceit clutched Remus’s hand, lacing his fingers through and brought it to his cheek. Remus’s hand was a burning warmth against Deceit’s scales. He was _here._

This was good. This was familiar. Deceit had done this exact thing hundreds of times, Remus comforting him after a nightmare or panic attack, or vice versa. It was just like the old times. 

Just like the old times…

  
  


Like the old—

  
  
  


Just like—

  
  


_No._

  
  


Deceit’s eyes flashed up towards Remus’s face, panic making his breath come even faster. Remus’s face was a melee of emotions, confusion the reigning factor. Deceit could lie. He could cover it up. It’s not that uncommon to reach out for comfort after a nightmare. So what if he had acted just like he had before he died? He could lie, if he could think of something fast enough. He could still—

Ragged breath.

Watery eyes.

Small voice.

“Deceit?” Remus whispered in disbelief.

_Shit._

“Y-you—you— you’re not— _”_ Remus backed away, his whole body trembling. His voice sounded… scared. Was Remus scared? Why was he scared? Why was he scared of _Deceit?_

Anger tore through Deceit’s veins like a rabid animal. Why was _Remus_ scared of _him? Deceit_ should be the one scared! This was Deceit’s _life_ on the line! Deceit could be sent to the _Subconscious_ and _Remus_ was the one scared? 

Remus took another step back. His face was getting splotchy. Why was _he_ crying? _He_ wasn’t the one who had to— to do _this_ , to— to his _best friend_ ~~(potentially _more_ than that?)~~. Remus brought this on _himself._ He—he had _betrayed_ Deceit. Remus shouldn’t be— _why was he crying?_

Remus shook his head as he took another step back, “N-no. You—you _can’t_ be— you’re not supposed to be—”

Deceit felt sick. But, he was also angry, and that helped Deceit keep his food down. It also gave Deceit a couple things to say. A _lot_ to say, actually. Deceit swung his legs off the warm rock he had fallen asleep on, “Not supposed to be _what_ , Remus?” He asked icily, “Not supposed to be able to _remember?_ Not supposed to be anyone other than _Dee?_ Not supposed to be _me?”_

Remus didn’t answer, backing up and shaking his head again. He was crying, tears spilling past his splotchy cheeks and into his shirt.

“Why are _you_ crying?” Deceit snapped, standing up and taking a step forward, “Last I checked, _you_ weren’t the one who had everyone he’d _ever known_ try to _erase_ him from existence!” 

Remus stared at him with wide eyes, saying nothing.

Deceit clenched his fists, “Why aren’t you saying anything? Just—just _say_ something! _Anything!_ Hit me with your morningstar, for all I care! Just do _something!”_

Remus wasn’t _ever_ supposed to be silent. It wasn’t in his nature. Remus was loud and sudden like an explosion. He had to react _somehow._ He _had_ to.

Remus still said nothing, taking another step back, shaking his head as more tears spilled out.

“Why are you crying?” Deceit asked again, taking another step forward, “Do you feel guilty? Is that it? Guilt? Are you fucking _sorry?”_

(Did Deceit _want_ him to be?)

“Now is a _shit_ time to be sorry, _Remus.”_ Deceit spat out the name in disdain, although he didn’t quite know why, “Awfully _convenient,_ isn’t it?”

Remus only stared at him.

Deceit’s eyes were burning. Why did his throat feel so tight? He ignored it, taking a step forward, “Remus, _say something.”_ He begged, “Everyone so far has at least done _something._ Virgil had a panic attack. Patton almost screamed. Logan at _least_ tried to talk a little. Fuck, your brother _attacked_ me! That’s _still_ better than _nothing!_ Just—” Deceit waved his hands in frustration, “do _something!_ Show me you even fucking _care,_ other than being guilty for your own _sorry_ hide! At least tell me why you didn’t even _help_ me!”

There was a pressure behind his eyes, in his throat, in his chest as he took another step forward, hands clutching the collar of his shirt. It felt too tight, it was choking him and it was hard to breathe and _why wasn’t Remus_ doing _anything?_

_“Why,_ Remus?” He asked. His eyes were wet, _“Why?_ Why did you _abandon_ me? I-I was — _am_ — all alone! Why—” his throat closed up, and he coughed wetly to clear it, “Why did you just let the Lights _erase_ me?”

A sudden sob escaped Deceit, and he covered his eyes with his hand and wrapped his other arm around himself, face contorted with the effort to not cry. He bit his lip harshly, trying his damned hardest not to completely break down.

“I thought—weren’t we closer than that?” He asked, voice choked as he looked back at Remus, “I thought — I thought we were _friends._ _Best_ friends. I-I guess we never really _talked_ about it, but wouldn’t you think living _twenty years_ together would result in that? We were all each other _had_ in the beginning. Hell, we were all each other had at the _end._ Did you forget that? Or was I wrong? Was—” he swallowed, “was it just a _lie_ I made up?”

Shaky breath in, half-hidden sob out. Remus still didn’t say anything. _Why wasn’t he saying anything?_

Deceit swiped at his eyes harshly, “When I first found you in the Subconscious, you were like a—a _beacon_ of—of _hope_ a-and _warmth._ I-I had been there for so _long._ I was questioning my _sanity._ I was so _cold_ and every day was a living _hell._ I had _literal Nightmares_ hunting me, _hurting_ me. I was always, _always_ terrified. I just wanted it to _stop._ That place made me fucking _suicidal_ at age _seven!”_

“But _you,”_ Deceit continued, “you fucking _saved_ me from the Subconscious. You—you made a way _out,_ A-and we — we _helped_ each other! We both got kicked out, but we stuck _together!_ We were awful and horrible and _broken,_ but we were broken _together!_ Did—” Deceit’s breath shuddered, “did that mean _nothing?”_

And Remus _still didn’t answer._ He had backed up against a tree, gripping the cuffs of his sleeves. _Why wasn’t he answering him?_

Deceit took a step forward, “You remember when Virgil left?” He asked, even though the answer was obviously _‘yes’,_ “That was one of the worst times of my _life._ But you know what kept me from fucking losing it? _You stayed._ You stayed even though I _fucked_ up, even though I _yelled_ at you, even though it was _my fucking fault_ that he left! We still _stuck together!_ We had _each other!”_

Deceit’s hands curled into fists again, “All that time we spent together, those birthdays we celebrated, those low-budget horror movies we watched, those times we comforted each other after a nightmare, did _those_ mean nothing? Were you _lying?”_ His voice choked up again, “Was _I_ lying to _myself?”_

Remus’s face was a myriad of emotions. Shock, disbelief, _terror,_ and—and so many others that Deceit couldn’t even _begin_ to interpret. Remus had brought a hand to his mouth, stifling his sobs, the other hand digging into his arm. 

Deceit inhaled a shaky breath, “When I was seven,” he said, struggling to keep his voice calm, “I was kicked out of the only family I had, because I was doing my _job.”_ He wiped his eyes, “They forced me out, _abandoned_ me. And then,” he said, “you and Virgil came, and we were happy. And then Virgil left because he couldn’t even stand to be _around_ me anymore. And now,” Deceit’s voice broke, and he _felt_ broken, “and now you’ve left me, too.”

It was quiet for a couple seconds, save for the breeze in the trees. It had gotten colder. Remus’s part of the Imagination tended to have sudden changes of weather. 

Remus sniffled.

Deceit looked at him sadly, “Why?” he asked softly.

Remus didn’t answer.

Deceit growled as something hot burned in his stomach. It was hot and sudden and horrible and powerful and _angry._

“Answer me, _goddammit!”_ Deceit screamed at Remus, stepping forward and twisting the front of the other’s shirt in his hands, _“Why?”_ He demanded, _“Why does everyone leave me?”_

They locked eyes, Deceit’s alight with fury, and Remus’s dim with grief, both of their gazes watery with tears.

And then Deceit sagged, resting his forehead on his chest, “What am I doing _wrong?”_ He asked quietly, _brokenly._

And now Remus _finally_ said something, _finally_ reacted other than crying.

_“Deceit,”_ he choked out, and Deceit felt Remus wrap his arms around him. Deceit let go of Remus’s shirt with a half sob, half sigh and leaned against Remus completely, energy gone.

_God,_ Deceit had missed him. Another sob built in the back of his throat as Remus held him tightly. He had missed him so _much._

Remus buried his face into the crook of Deceit’s neck. Deceit could feel the tears soaking through his shirt. He hadn’t put his jacket on since he took it off before his nap. 

A breeze blew, and Deceit shivered as he stifled his sobs against Remus’s chest. Remus’s scratchy shirt was bad at absorbing tears. 

Remus squeezed Deceit tighter, as if he was scared he might run away.

Which reminded Deceit of what he had to do.

_No._ a part of him begged, _Please, no. I just got him back! I can’t lose him again!_

_No, you didn’t just get him back._ Deceit argued with himself, _And he was never_ yours _to begin with! He_ chose _to erase me. This is just his guilt that’s making him cry. He—he doesn’t_ really _care._

But oh, even though Deceit _really_ wished he did, he wouldn’t be able to handle it if he had been wrong. He _couldn’t_ be wrong. He had spent too much time and effort and he had _hurt_ for so long, _just_ to be safe. No, he _couldn’t_ be wrong, not about this.

A wave of apathy washed over Deceit as he gently pushed himself away from Remus. Remus didn’t fully let go, hands locking around Deceit’s waist, which seemed awfully _convenient_ for what Deceit was about to do.

Deceit took a deep breath, not meeting Remus’s eyes, “You can’t remember this,” he said dully, “they’ll make me go back _there_ if they find out — even on the off chance that _you_ wouldn’t.”

Deceit looked up to see Remus opening his mouth to say something. Deceit silenced him with a light tap to his shoulder. He couldn’t have Remus trying to argue with him, he just… he might not be able to go through if he did.

“That being said,” Deceit continued, “this might kill me. But…” he paused, watching Remus’s eyes widen, then resumed, voice still listless, “I don’t think I care anymore.”

Remus tensed, and Deceit bet that he would have jerked away in surprise if the tree hadn’t been there to stop him.

Deceit blinked slowly at Remus as he steeled himself, “Sorry about this.”

And then Deceit pulled Remus down and kissed him.

— — —

_(A little while earlier)_

Remus was having fun! He was climbing the big meteor and watching his flesh sizzle! The meteor was still _really_ hot! Remus didn’t really know why! But it was fun to climb, so that’s all that really mattered, anyway!

Dee had fallen asleep, which didn’t really surprise Remus. Deceit had always fallen asleep quicker than a hoard of vultures to a carcass when he was warm! Snake-y stuff and all that, y’know.

But Remus was getting bored. He flopped down from the meteor and landed in the dirt face first. Mmmm. Red, earthy dirt, dry and burning from close proximity to the meteor. Tasted like California dirt. Or Arizona dirt. Or Nevada dirt. Or maybe it just tasted like Death Valley because death was cool and Remus’s realm was _full_ of cool things! Like plagues, and maggots! And half-grown fae that were rotting alive! And flesh-eating plants! And octopuses that lived on land, because octopussys were the best animal ever and deserved to get world domination because octopi had eight arms and were sticky and green and they were the _best._ Remus _loved_ the fact that Thomas thought they were gross, because that mean he could turn _into—_

Dee was breathing quickly.

In a blink, Remus got up from his insane mumbling into the dirt and appeared next to Dece— _Dee._ The replacement snakelike side had curled up to his side, whimpering.

Remu took a half-step back. Dee was having a nightmare? ~~He looked so much like Deceit.~~ Remus wasn’t prepared for this. He — he could only help Deceit! He would be able to help if _Dee_ was _Deceit!_

But.

He _wasn’t_ Deceit.

Remus pressed his lips together. Well, he had to do the best he could, right? (Like it was a question. Look at him, the bitch looked like _Deceit.)_

Remus prodded Dee’s shoulder, “Hey. _Hey,_ wake up. Wake up. Wake _up,_ Dec—Dee.” Remus flinched at the slip-up, but Dee showed no signs of waking, only making a small, scared noise as he curled up tighter.

Remus shook Dee, “Hey. _Stop it._ Wake up, Dee. You’re asleep. Stop having a nightmare.”

Remus shook Dee harder, intending to yell something startling to wake Dee up. That was something normal to do, right? Urgh, Remus didn’t know what was normal! All he knew was _Deceit!_ He didn’t want to _traumatize_ Dee! What could Remus do that _wasn’t_ traumatizing? He could scream to wake Dee up! That would work, right?

_No, of_ course _not, dipshit! C’mon, dummy, just wake him up like you did with Deceit! That’s_ normal!

Well, _that_ wouldn’t work. The way Remus had woken Deceit up, when he could tell he was having a nightmare, was just sliding into his bed and waiting until his body heat woke the side up. But there was _no_ way Dee would appreciate _that,_ so Remus had to find a better way, since shaking didn’t seem to help.

Fortunately, Dee decided to wake _himself_ up.

Dee shot upright, eyes unfocused and terrified. He was breathing hard, as if he had held his breath through his nightmare. 

“Dee?” Remus asked. Dee didn’t respond. Remus tried again, waving his hand in front of Dee’s face, “Dee? Are you—”

Dee’s eyes focused on Remus’s hand, and Dee immediately snatched it, holding it close as if it were his and his alone.

Remus’s eyebrows pulled together in bewilderment, “Dee?” He asked confusedly, “What are you—”

And then Dee laced their fingers together, and rubbed Remus’s hand across his scales, taking in a deep breath. 

Remus froze. Because Dee had done it like it was second nature, but by the _gods,_ no one alive would be or could be or _should be_ comfortable with that. Because that was something only _Deceit_ did. _Only_ Deceit.

Dee stiffened, looking up at Remus with a sharp intake of breath. He looked like he was caught red-handed in an act, which made Remus think that… 

_No._

No. _No._ Nononononono. He couldn’t be — he _wasn’t he wasn’t he_ wasn’t because he would have _told_ him. Right? He would have _told him!_ Why didn’t he tell Remus, did he do something wrong? God what if he did _why didn’t he tell him_ but he was _alive alive alive_ was he happy? Was he angry? Fuck he didn’t know but he was _here_ but what if he _wasn’t_ no it _had_ to be him _no one else would do that_ and he was _here and alive he’s here he’s Deceit Deceit Deceit and he’s here and he’s_

_“Deceit?”_ A rough whisper, torn from Remus’s lips as if someone had yanked it out.

The look on Dee—Decei— _his_ face told Remus everything.

Remus took a step back, his fingers slipping from D— _his_ hand. He… he didn’t understand. He was _dead._ And Logie had said that _he wasn’t coming back._ Roman had said that—that Dee wasn’t—

“Y-you—you— you’re not—” _you’re not supposed to be alive_ they told me you were _dead_ _did they lie why did_ you _lie I don’t_ understand _fuck why didn’t you_

Decei—Dee— _Deceit_ was angry. Why was he angry he was _here_ and he was yelling _wait did he blame Remus no no no why is he blaming_ me? And _fuck_ Remus was crying and he was trying to stop because _he shouldn’t be sad because Deceit was_ here but he was _angry_ because _why didn’t he tell him_ and _Deceit_ was angry and he was yelling and

_“Why,_ Remus?” Deceit challenged, _“Why?_ Why did you _abandon_ me? I-I was — _am_ — all alone! Why—” he coughed, “Why did you just let the Lights _erase_ me?”

And _no Deceit was crying_ Deceit shouldn’t be crying _did he blame Remus was this his fault Deceit was angry at him oh fuck Remus didn’t_ know _he_ never _knew why didn’t Deceit_ tell him? 

And then Deceit took a step forward and he was crying and he was talking about _them_ and he called them _best friends_ and he was asking if it meant _nothing_ and Remus wanted to say _no of course not_ because Remus fucking loved him more than _anything_ but his fucking voice _wasn’t working_ and Remus had backed up against a tree and he was clutching his sleeves because he wasn’t even sure if this was _real_ and his sleeves were the only thing that told him this _was._

Remus was crying and he was covering his mouth and he felt his hand digging into his arm and it was drawing blood and he was hiccuping and his tears felt like the ~~_blood on Deceit’s face as he died_~~ and they fell _~~like Deceit did when the Dragon Witch dropped him~~ _ and his arm squeezed himself _~~just like the Dragon Witch did~~ _ and _god no I didn’t leave you Deceit you_ died.

Deceit was gazing at him sadly, “Why?” He asked softly, and _Remus would have told him_ but _his voice wasn’t working._

And the Deceit growled angrily, and then he was _screaming_ at Remus and Remus did his best not to flinch because it was _Deceit_ and Deceit _wouldn’t_ hurt him so Remus didn’t have any _reason_ to flinch. ~~(Right?)~~

“Answer me, _goddammit!”_ Deceit was screaming at Remus, and he had stepped forward and he was twisting the front of Remus’s shirt in his hands, _“Why?”_ He demanded, _“Why does everyone leave me?”_

And by all the gods, if Remus could move he would have kissed him right then and there because Deceit was _here_ and he was _real_ but he was angry and crying and Remus had missed him _so much it hurt_ and he _never left_ but Deceit _thought_ he did and Remus had to make sure Deceit _never thought that again._

And then Deceit deflated, _thunk_ ing his head against Remus’s chest, “What am I doing _wrong?”_ He asked, shoulders slumping, as if he had been defeated past all points of recovery.

And Remus was still crying but he was just so _happy_ that Deceit was _here,_ and Remus needed Deceit to know that he had never left because Deceit had _died_ and they didn’t _know_ that Dee was Deceit, but if they _did_ they would have _never ever ever_ hid it from him _ever._

_“Deceit.”_ Remus sobbed out, because he was _here,_ and Remus hugged him, burying his face into Deceit’s shoulder and breathing in the comforting scent of _him,_ because he was _here,_ and he hugged him so _tight tight tight_ and he was _never ever_ going to let go _because what if he left what if he died again he was never ever ever ever going to let go._

Deceit pushed away from the embrace, but Remus didn’t let go _because he just got him back,_ leaving his hands resting by Deceit’s waist.

Deceit wouldn’t meet Remus’s eyes, staring at his sash instead, “You can’t remember this,” Deceit‘s voice sounded like a lukewarm day in August right before school, tired and dull and vaguely dreading what was to come, “they’ll make me go back _there_ if they find out — even on the off chance that _you_ wouldn’t.”

_What?_ They wouldn’t! They would— they’d be thrilled! They would be so happy that Deceit was back! How could they _not_ be? Deceit was _back!_ They would be _ecstatic!_

~~_(Right?)_ ~~

And Remus _tried_ to tell Deceit that—he _did!_ But Deceit silenced him before he could with a tap to his shoulder. Remus shut his mouth, his apprehension growing.

“That being said,” Deceit went on to say listlessly, “this might kill me,” 

Remus’s eyes widened. _What?_ _No no no I just got you_ back _what are you talking about?_

“But...I don’t think I care anymore.” Deceit gazed at Remus, dead eyed and apathetic. 

Remus tensed, mind racing though all the implications and _fear_ for Deceit and wondering what _he was going to do_ and blinking down at him because _he didn’t want to lose him again_ but he got the awful feeling that he _was_ going to and it was going to be very _soon._

Deceit blinked slowly at Remus, “Sorry about this.”

And then Deceit pulled Remus down and kissed him.

_And the entire world turned yellow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry.


	27. (Heart)Sick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: sickness, vomiting, mentions of blood
> 
> It’s the first day of summer for me!!! Not that it makes much a difference, because, y’know, _quarantine_ , but I mean, at least I don’t have to worry about homework!

Deceit was on _fire._

No, now he was freezing alive.

No, he was on fire again.

Hold up...

_God,_ what had happened? 

Deceit didn’t move or open his eyes, instead assessing his injuries. His joints _ached_ and his head felt like there was a tiny man inside beating his brain with a hammer in time to his pulse. He was in his bed, and it seemed that he had kicked his covers off. And, given the state of his stomach, the soreness of his muscles, and his rotten luck, he probably had a raging fever. But _why_ did he have a fever? What did he _do?_

Deceit tensed, then let out a whining groan as he remembered the events that had occurred. Remus, the forest, the yelling, the _kiss…_

Oh _god,_ he had _kissed_ Remus. He had kissed _Remus._

Deceit groaned again, covering his face with his hands—his muscles felt like they had been injected with hellfire— and curled up on the bed in mortification.

The heat radiating off him was purely sickness, of course.

Fuck it, he felt too miserable to lie. He had _kissed_ Remus. _Remus!_ Deceit felt like that called for a certain amount of embarrassment. (But the strange giddiness that went with it was _all_ fever. His brain was being fried in his own skull, that was it. No absurd feelings from kissing Remus here, only fever.)

Well, it had been necessary. The kiss was a last-ditch plan, something he had only _imagined_ doing as a kid. (Not that...he had ever imagined or thought about kissing Remus. That would just be weird.)

Deceit hadn’t ever really expected to do it ever, but it was basically the most dangerous thing he could do, and the most effective. Lies were most effective when rooted in truth, and when truth wasn’t available, belief and trust were your best bet. Kissing was intimate, and intimacy evoked trust. (It made sense to Thomas, and in turn Deceit and the mindscape, and that was really all that mattered, anyways) 

Kissing Remus had most likely wiped the entirety of the trip from Remus’s mind, or at least a close enough approximation. Deceit didn’t really know. The had both collapsed, then Deceit had sent Remus to his room before the side could wake up, then sunk out himself as soon as he could. (He passed out at some point, though. The details were frustratingly blurry.)

A _pang_ went through Deceit as he thought back to the...rant that he had gone on. He had really snapped, hadn’t he? 

Deceit sat up with a wince. _God,_ his head hurt. And his muscles. And he was pretty sure the man in his head bashing his brain was also cooking it. Was that normal for a fever? It probably was, right? Right.

Despite the fire underneath Deceit’s skin, he shivered. Could you be freezing yet _burning_ at the same time? Was that a thing? Because Deceit was pretty sure it _wasn’t._ It didn’t make sense. If your body decided to burn up, it should _stay_ burning, and not be ice-cold at the same time. That was just common sense.

Deceit reached for his lamp, turning it on. He flinched when the glaring light hit his eyes. _Argh._

Deceit puffed a breath through his too-warm nose as he swung his feet off the side of the bed, mentally preparing himself to stand. He sat there for a minute, not quite able to will himself to get up and face the inevitable burning pain and dizziness. 

Deceit sighed, then got up quickly, so he wouldn’t be able to back out of it. The world immediately tilted to the left, and blackish-bluish-reddish-greenish spots danced in the corners of his vision, threatening to consume his sight completely. His alarm clock, reading 3:37 AM—he must have been out for a _while_ — looked fuzzy and almost too indistinct to read. Deceit stumbled, catching himself on his desk. He sagged for a second, his legs failing him, until he forced himself to stand, ignoring the fact that he wasn’t quite sure which way was up anymore. Deceit kept on hand on his desk to steady himself as he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, trying to get the room to stop spinning.

Deceit’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, and he took a deep breath against the nausea. He was fine. He was _fine._ He just had to breathe. 

Okay, that wasn’t working. Deceit recognized the familiar feeling of vomit working his way up his throat. He let go of the desk and stumbled towards the bathroom, one had pressed over his mouth, the other steadying himself against whatever structure there was to lean on.

He made it to the toilet just in time, falling to his knees and heaving up the omelette he had eaten earlier into the bowl. The stomach acid burned his throat and he coughed, the rancid taste sharp on his tongue. 

The queasiness didn’t leave, and he wrapped one arm around his stomach. He was so used to his regular throwing up after a nightmare, that somehow throwing up while actually being _sick_ was so, _so_ much worse. 

Deceit heaved again, expelling the last of his sorry breakfast the day before. His stomach hurt, and the putrid smell coming from the bowl in front of him was making him even more dizzy. He retched again, but nothing came up but stomach acid and bile. He spat the remnants of the fluid into the toilet, resisting another wave of nausea.

Deceit’s stomach burned, his mouth burned, his throat burned, even his _nose_ burned. He wiped his mouth and nose with his sleeve, leaving a shiny, acidic trail on the leather of his jacket. Deceit grimaced at it, then ripped a wad of toilet paper off the roll and scrubbed at his arm. _Nasty._

After tossing the wad in the toilet bowl and flushing, Deceit leaned against his wall. He could feel goosebumps racing up and down his arms and legs, prickling uncomfortably against his jacket and pants. Deceit shimmied off his jacket, then groaned; he was too cold to take it off.

With another groan, Deceit set his palms against the cold tile, futilely attempting to push himself up. After a few moments of straining, he slumped back against the wall, beads of sweat forming on his forehead and collar. He _thunk_ ed his head against the wall, then immediately winced at the bolt of pain that lanced through his skull. _Wonderful._

Deceit gathered his strength, then pushed himself up again, leaning on the wall heavily. This time, he didn’t fall. Deceit forced himself to walk steadily, and made his way to the sink, rinsing out his mouth, easing the stinging of the stomach acid. He splashed water on his face, letting the cold water cool his burning cheeks. The water dropped onto his collar and he shivered, then grimaced when that made his shirt rub painfully on his hypersensitive skin.

Deceit stared at his reflection in the mirror, one hand reaching up to idly scratch the scales on his face, his nails scraping the cool surface. His scales felt stiff, and looked lackluster in the mirror. Was he shedding? Because now was a _horrible_ time to start shedding.

Deceit groaned as his scratching fingers pulled away a layer of dead skin from his face. He scraped his scales harder, letting more shreds of skin slough off. His eyes flicked back up to the mirror, and _god,_ he looked _awful._ His eyes and cheeks were bright with fever, his scales were dull, with strips of skin hanging off, like he was starring in some horror movie.

_Arrgh._

Deceit scrubbed at his face again, nails scratching at his scales viciously. _Agggh,_ his scales were so _itchy,_ and he didn’t even have his scrubs to help get them off! And it wasn’t like he could _summon_ one, given the state he was in.

Deceit wobbled, and he stopped scratching to grab the counter in panic. Ah, yes. He might want to sit down, unless his face wanted to have a nice chat with the floor. 

Deceit more or less limped back to his bed, his aching muscles trembling. What was it about fevers that made you so weak? Putting the blankets over himself was a _chore_ at this point. And so was kicking them off when his hypersensitive skin declared his soft-as-fuck blankets too rough. 

Well, at least the world wasn’t spinning anymore. And he wasn’t throwing up.

He just hoped the rest of the sides — _especially_ Remus— wouldn’t try to talk to him before he was ready. 

As Deceit curled up on his side (with a trash can close to his bed, just in case) to go back to sleep, he did his _darn_ best not to think. Thoughts often wander where they should not go.

Too bad that his brain didn’t get the memo.

— — —

_“What’s up, Doc?” Remus popped up next to Deceit. Deceit jumped, knocking a pile of papers off his desk, then scowled at Remus._

_“What do you want?” Deceit snapped, “I have work to do.”_

_Remus pouted, “You’re no fun! Anyways, Virgey’s back.”_

_Deceit straightened, even though he was gay, “Virgil?” He asked._

_Remus nodded, giggling inexplicably, and Deceit frowned in faint surprise. Virgil was back. That was good. Now Deceit could finally give him his blanket that he had mended._

_Deceit glanced down at his arms. His sleeves were rolled up, the scales on them cracked and torn and bleeding, the blood dripping down his arms. He looked back up, and he was washing dishes. He didn’t remember waking into the kitchen._

_“Dee! Dee!” Virgil was tugging on his shirt._

_Deceit looked down at the young side, “Yes, my little spider?”_

_“I wanna see a_ concert.” _Virgil said, crossing his arms and pouting, “I wanna see a_ good _one!”_

_“That’s nice, sweetie,” Deceit replied, setting a dish in the rack and reaching for another, this one a piece of a plate that had been shattered. The edges cut his fingers, and the blood drops joined the rest of the trails of blood dripping into the sink, turning the water a diluted orange._

_And suddenly Deceit heard a snarl behind him. He twisted around, landscape darkening and Virgil disappearing as he did so._

_A Nightmare was waiting for him, and Lying stumbled back. The Nightmare growled, and it’s tentacles shot out towards him, a cold blue to Lying’s infrared eye. The tentacles wrapped around him, pulling him towards it’s waiting maw._

_Its eyes were chaotic, switching from color to color to color to color, a hypnotic cacophony of reds and blues and yellows and browns and greens and blacks._

_Deceit pushed himself away in a panic, and fell down, into the waiting sink of the dirty, bloody dishwater._

_“Hey, you know what would be_ so _cool?” Remus said, elbows on Deceit’s desk._

_Deceit look up from his annotating and raised an eyebrow at him, “I swear if you say an orgasm in a freezer I will_ personally _murder you.”_

_Remus giggled, “Well, I wasn’t_ _going to say that, but that’s even_ better!” 

_“Well, what_ were _you going to say?” Deceit prompted, adding a little note on the margins of his book._

_“I was_ going _to say ‘a_ baby _in a freezer’!” Remus said cheerfully, “They taste best cold!”_

_Deceit sighed affectionately, shaking his head with a half-hidden smile, “Please don’t_ actually _eat a child.”_

_Remus cackled, “You can’t stop me, DeeDee!”_

_Deceit smirked, “No, I suppose I can’t. A_ shame, _really.”_

_“Hey!” Little Virgil said from the doorway,_ “Hey!”

_Deceit turned around, a smile on his lips “Yes, Virgil?”_

_And suddenly little Virgil wasn’t so little anymore. He was tall. And angry._

_“You fucking_ liar.” _He spat, “You fucking_ played _us.”_

_Deceit started in surprise. He...what? No! He didn’t! He was_ protecting _himself!_

_Deceit wasn’t sitting at his desk anymore. He was backing up, away from the advancing Virgil._

_“Don’t you try to deny it!” Virgil snapped, “See? It’s_ just _like I said before I left. All you do is_ lie _for your own selfish gain.” He made a face of pure disgust, “_ God, _I can’t believe I was_ fooled _by your little_ act.”

_Deceit took another step back, only to bump into something. He twisted around, and Remus was there, as angry and tall and as intimidating as Deceit never found him._

_“For your information,” he said offhandedly, “it_ didn’t _really mean much_.”

_Deceit took a step away from him as Remus continued, “It meant nothing. All the stupid, pointless shit we did together.” He waved his hand airly, “Y’know, the movie nights, the birthdays, whatever you were talking about back in the forest.” He shrugged nonchalantly, “Nothing. Didn’t really matter.”_

_Deceit’s breath hitched as Remus leaned forward, smirking. Deceit could feel his breath fanning his cheeks, “But I bet_ you _liked that little lie, didn’tcha?” He_ tsk _ed, “Wow, making me do all those things with you so you could pretend you were loved._ God, _you’re so_ manipulative. _I don’t blame Virgil for leaving. If you hadn’t been so controlling, maybe he’d still find it in himself to tolerate us.”_

_Remus’s eyes were kaleidoscopes of colors._

_Deceit ducked away from his family and ran, only to come to a dead stop as Morality materialized in front of him. Logic was hugging King protectively behind the bespectacled side._

_“You’re not— you’re not welcome here anymore,” Mo said, voice as soft and angry and dark as it had been all those years ago, “you’ve done too much to be forgiven.”_

_Behind Morality, King stood up, and he was tall, as if he had gotten the chance to grow up, to mature and age instead of being spit into two pieces. The King waved at him, past the darkening edges of Dee’s vision._

“See you later!” _The unfamiliar voice rang out._

_And then Lying was alone._

_(But Deceit_ swore _he heard laughter.)_

— — —

Y’know, Deceit actually woke up feeling better. Physically, anyways.

Emotionally? Not so much. 

Y’know, Deceit wondered if _once,_ just _maybe_ he could go to sleep and actually get his money’s worth of rest. At this point, _staying awake_ would make him less tired

Deceit sat up, groaning as his still-sore muscles twinged. He didn’t want to get up, but he got the feeling that going back to bed might result in much more —ahem— _exciting_ dreams.

(If exciting only encompassed something that made your heart rate to go up, then his dreams more than fit the bill.)

(But Deceit was pretty sure it didn’t work that way.)

(His dreams were more…traumatizing. That was a good word for them! Traumatizing! What _wasn’t,_ nowadays?)

A knock on the door. Three times.

  
Rat-tat- _tat_.

(Deceit almost vomited again. Patton had the same knock he had when they were kids.)

(Suddenly Deceit felt very small again, locked in his own room.)

_(“We need to talk,”_ Morality had said.)

Deceit shook his head to dispel the memory.

(Why was he getting all scared _now?_ Patton had knocked on his door _plenty_ of times. He should be desensitized by now.)

He hurriedly combed down his hair with his hands and tried to un-wrinkle his shirt. Patton would get suspicious if he looked as depressed as he felt. Thankfully, his scales didn’t itch too much. Had he scratched at his face while he slept? He tended to do that sometimes. Oh well, hopefully he hadn’t made any lasting marks, like last time.

“Come in,” he called, sliding out of his bed and trying to make it look like he wasn’t being slow roasted from the inside.

Patton cracked open the door, “Heya, Dee!” He chirped, “You didn’t come to dinner or breakfast earlier, so I just just checkin’ in to see if everything’s alright!”

Deceit suppressed a groan. Leave it to _Patton_ to be the one that policed everyone’s health and well-being. (Fuck, he _hated_ role swaps.) It could very well be the end of Deceit one day. Quite literally.

“Yeah, well,” Deceit said, quickly forming a lie, “Remus’s realm really tuckered me out!”

God, _tuckered?_ He just said _what_ now? _Curse_ Patton. His speech mannerisms—and word choices—were rubbing off on Deceit.

Patton looked down at Deceit. (God _dammit,_ where was a hat to make you feel taller when you needed one?) A small frown formed on the paternal side’s lips, “Are ya sure, kiddo? You’re looking a little flushed there. Are your scales okay?”

Deceit stomach clenched (with panic, thankfully, and not the need to throw up) (although, panic still wasn’t very good), “I was under my heat lamp,” he said quickly, lying through his teeth, “and my scales feel fine.”

Patton hummed in acknowledgement, grinning as the worry cleared from his face, “Oh, okay, kiddo!” He said as he ruffled Deceit’s hair— _ugh_ — and stepped away from his door, “Let me know if ya need anything!” he called as he headed down the hallway, “Dinner’s in an hour!”

(Had Deceit really slept for _that_ long?)

Deceit sagged against the wall as he watched him go, “Okay,” he mumbled after him, suddenly feeling exhausted. He turned and closed the door behind him, flopping back into his bed.

And yet, Deceit couldn’t fall back asleep. He still felt like he had been microwaved and stretched out like a slinky. Actually, that was probably a blessing, he didn’t think he could take another fever dream—those things were fuckin’ _weird._

Deceit made himself more comfortable—well, as comfortable as his situation allowed—on his bed, tucking his hands under his head and staring at the ceiling as he tried his best not to remember the fact that he existed.

— — —

Deceit was still staring at his ceiling almost an hour later, a few new tear tracks on his cheeks. He had managed to go through every single crisis—existential, midlife, you name it—in fifty-five minutes.

Whelp. Crying hour was over with. Dinner must be just about ready. Deceit sat up and patted his cheeks dry, hating the feeling of his overheated muscles. Hopefully he would be able to get the others to lie soon. He didn’t know if he could handle feeling like this for much longer.

Deceit stretched —oh dear, the room was spinning— and straightened his jacket. No use waiting for Patton to come get him. He ignored the nausea and the awkward tilt of the room.

As Deceit pushed open his door, he heard loud voices coming from the dining room. 

Now, in the old days, Deceit wouldn’t have cared whatsoever. He could give a rat’s _ass_ about whatever squabble they had. No, wait, that was wrong. Deceit would have listened in, and then exploited whatever he heard to his advantage.

Hey, maybe he _should_ do that. 

Deceit peered around a corner in the hallway—had that been there before? Whatever, mindscape fluidity, yadiyadiyada, stuff only Logan would care about. Deceit only cared that it aided him at this certain point of time.

Roman was talking loudly, almost on the verge of yelling, “—and Remus, that little stunt you pulled? What the fuck was that? Prancing off into the woods with Dee? We’ve _talked_ about this! He isn’t _him!”_

“I’m tellin’ ya, _I didn’t go anywhere!”_ Remus shouted, cutting his brother off, “I don’t even know what you’re _talking_ about!”

Deceit felt a spike of fear bury itself into his stomach like a knife. Oh _shit._

“Oh, _give me a break!”_ Roman snapped, “Both Virgil and I _saw_ you two go! Why are you even trying to hide it? Where _were_ you, if not in the Imagination?”

“I don’t _know!”_ Remus growled in frustration. 

Deceit heard someone shifting, and could imagine Logan adjusting his glasses as he prepared to speak, “Perhaps, Roma—”

_“Shut it!”_ Twin shouts of rage sounded out, along with another voice, “Shut your _fucking_ mouth, before I _make_ you!” _Virgil._

The angry voices split off into even angrier rants, the noise making Deceit wince with pain.

Roman, “Look, I’ve tried to be nice, but—”

Virgil, “ _You_ don’t get a say in _anything—”_

Remus, “You’re worse than _Patton,_ at least he fucking _apologized,_ you son of—”

Virgil again, “—until you apologize, _Logic.”_

Roman, this time, “—gone too far! I know you have problems assessing emotions, but _really?”_

Remus, “—don’t know why I even _try,_ one day I’ll let loose, and not even _you_ will be able to contain—”

A stomp. A clang, as if someone had angrily _slammed_ down a dish. A deafening shout of _“Quiet!”_

Deceit flinched again, the pain in his head cranking into slightly-woozy levels. The others quieted immediately, making silence ring throughout the mindscape. Or maybe that was Deceit’s ears ringing. Who’s to say. Deceit sagged against the wall, hiding his eyes from the light, which was suddenly too bright. _Damn, I’m too sick for this shit._

“I have had it up to _here_ with all the arguments and fighting!” Patton shouted, “Every time it seems that more than two of us is in a room, we’re fighting! Or if there’s two of us in a room, we’re _crying_ about some conflict, old _or_ new! I _know_ things have been hard since—since _Deceit,_ but that doesn’t mean we can take it out on each other!” 

Patton continued as Deceit took in a deep breath, suddenly nauseous, “Now, we are going to _sit down,_ and have a _nice_ dinner like a _family,_ or _so help me,_ you all are going to be sent to your _rooms!”_

As Patton’s voice moved down the hallway, Deceit took a step back, but had to close his eyes against the spinning corridor. Okay, perhaps he was a bit more sick than he had originally thought.

“And _no arguing!”_ Patton’s voice was stern, and Deceit heard the paternal side’s footsteps come closer.

Panic _lurched_ through Deceit. Wait, he wasn’t ready! He didn’t know—what should he do? If they found him eavesdropping they’d _know. Ugh,_ he couldn’t _concentrate,_ he had to get _out of here—_

Patton continued, calling down the hallway, “I’m going to get Dee, and by the time I’m back, I want all of you _seated,_ and _quiet,_ and _no_ arguments about—”

A pause. 

Deceit looked up from his crumpled position—when had he fallen?— and into the blue eyes of Patton, whose mouth formed a little _’o’_ in surprise as he finished his sentence in the form of a question.

“—Deceit?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! Deceit fever is around 104 degrees!!! He is not healthy!!! (I feel the need to mention that I am _very_ good at being sick. Also, I made this chapter in like, the first week of quarantine maybe the week before, so being sick was _definitely_ on my mind)
> 
> Another fun fact! There is _absolutely_ symbolism ~~and foreshadowing~~ in Deceit’s dream (because Virgil is canonically babey and _none of you can stop me_ )
> 
> Also, I have nothing to say for myself and I deserve all the screaming that is going to flood my emails. ~~I feed off of tears and anger, don’t stop screaming at me. If you wanna scream at me on tumblr, my url is @astronomical-bagel.~~


	28. Y’know, I don’t think “fun” is the best adjective for this situation...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy SHIT I got a lot of comments in the last chapter lmao—sorry if I didn’t get to yours! Pls enjoy this chapter bc it was verrrry hard to write for some reason.
> 
> Also, warning for what I _believe_ counts as psychological torture

“—Deceit?” Patton asked, looking stunned.

Deceit scrambled back, _No wait how did he_ know? _I wiped his memories! This isn’t supposed to be happening!_ Was he speaking out loud? He might’ve been speaking out loud. Instead of backing into the wall like he expected, he went out into the open hall. Had he got turned around? His head hurt. 

“Wait— _Deceit?”_ Patton sounded bewildered, and Deceit flinched at his name. Patton gasped, “Oh my _gosh—”_ Suddenly, Patton let out a groan, clutching his head, and his knees hit the floor as soon as Deceit stumbled to his feet. He couldn’t—he couldn’t brainwash Patton. He didn’t have the juice. Could he just lie the regular way? No, Patton was breaking out of the lie he had implanted earlier. He’d remember that Deceit had had his _hat_ on and that he put him under a lie in the _first place._

Deceit was losing control. He didn’t—he didn't know what to do. ~~He couldn’t go back he _couldn’t go back_ _it was so cold there he couldn’t go back_~~

“Patton?” Roman’s tired voice reached Deceit’s ears, and he took a step back, frantically looking from Patton from where Roman was peeking into the hallway and back to Patton again. Roman was still talking, “You good there, Padre? I heard—” he cut off as he saw Deceit, a long second passing as Deceit saw Roman put two and two together.

And then Roman groaned as well, stumbling as he put on hand up to his head. His other hand suddenly held his sword, the point pointed towards the ground, “ _You_ —you _fiend,_ you did this —this what you to Virgil, isn’t it?” His voice was pained, and he winced and dropped his sword as he brought up both hands to his head, “I— _damn_ it, I can’t— can’t _focus.”_

Deceit took another step back. The rest were coming. He couldn’t stop them. They were coming and he couldn’t stop it. _No._ No. _No no no no_ no! _No this isn’t supposed to_ happen! ~~_I can’t go back I’ll fight them if they make me go back I won’t go please please_ please _I_ can’t~~

The world took a dizzying dip to the left, and Deceit felt himself starting to fall in that direction, he forced himself to the right, leaning against the wall. 

“Roman? Patton? What’s wrong?” Virgil’s voice sounded panicked, “Are you okay? What happened?” Virgil locked eyes with Deceit and, after a few seconds of _painful_ staring, gasped, _“No.”_ he said, voice distorting, taking a step back, _“You—you—you erased our memories. I—I don’t understand—Deceit?”_ Virgil was breathing fast, nails elongating, and multiple eyes blinking into existence.

Deceit was crying. When had he started crying? Silent sobs shook his body, and he could feel his own breaths coming fast. Too fast. His fingers were getting numb. His balance was off. He couldn’t—he couldn’t move. He had to _move._ He had to _run._

Logan was standing behind Virgil. _Remus_ was standing behind Virgil, hands covering his mouth. His eyes were wide, staring at Deceit as his eyes filled with tears.

_No._

This couldn’t be happening—this _couldn’t_ be happening. It was another nightmare, a fever dream. This couldn’t really be happening.

But the rest of the sides were there. Patton was on the ground, clutching his head. He was crying. Roman had slid down against the wall with a moan, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his palms to his temples. His sword lay by his feet. Virgil was on the ground, whimpers of pain escaping his mouth as he clutched his hair. Logan was frozen, just like he had been when Deceit had erased his memory. 

And Remus was staring at Deceit, hands still over his mouth, tears streaming freely over his cheeks.

Deceit couldn’t stand the look in his eyes. Remus looked _betrayed._ He looked—he looked—

Deceit turned around and _ran._

— — —

Tears stung Deceit’s face, the wetness on his face almost burning as the air around him got progressively colder.

~~_Colder like the_ Subconscious _I can’t stop running they’ll_ find _me I can’t go back I_ won’t _go back_~~

Deceit stumbled falling to his knees as he started to retch. Nothing came up. He had thrown it all up earlier in his bathroom.

More tears dribbled down Deceit’s chin as his stomach tensed painfully. It was all _gone._ His regained friendship with Virgil, however _fake_ as it was, the other side’s _toleration_ of him, _whatever_ he had had with Remus—before _and_ after he died— it was _gone._ There was _no_ way he could physically cover it up. He went through all these days of silent agony to save his own scales and it was all for _nothing._ A feeble attempt at life and happiness made in vain.

(Deceit was running again, stumbling as he went. He didn’t remember getting up.)

He should have been _happy_ with what he had. He didn’t _need_ to wear his hat that one time, when Patton found out. He didn’t _need_ to swipe a book from Logan. He didn’t _need_ to get overprotective of Virgil and reveal himself to him and Roman. He _wasted_ his power and _this_ was the fucking _consequence._

What if he hadn’t hid the fact that he remembered? Would it have played out differently? Would they have welcomed him back?

_Of course not, Deceit. Life isn’t a fucking_ fairytale.

But—when he thought about it, hadn’t it seemed like they _wanted_ him back? He heard the slip-ups when they were talking to him. Virgil and Remus had _cried_ when they—

_No._

Deceit couldn’t _afford_ for it all to be a mistake— it was just wishful thinking. Why _wouldn’t_ it be? The others slipped up so often because he _looked_ the same—and perhaps he wasn’t as good an actor as he thought he was. That was understandable. And so _what_ if Virgil had cried? He _hated_ Deceit. He could’ve been crying because of literally _anything._ It could’ve been an act. It could’ve been guilt. It couldn’t have been fear. Who knows? And Remus…

Deceit didn’t even want to _think_ about Remus.

Why? Because it _hurt_ too fucking much. Deceit didn’t want to think about how Remus cried after realizing he remembered. Deceit didn’t want to think about how he had seemed so happy without him around. Deceit didn’t want to think about how Remus betrayed him. Deceit didn’t want to think about the haunted look in his eyes whe—

_He didn’t want to think about it._

Deceit’s breath was coming in short gasps, his heart thudding in his chest as his muscles complained about the excessive movement. He stumbled, dizzy. He had to stop. 

But he _couldn’t_ stop. If he stopped they’d _catch_ him, and then it was _bye-bye_ Deceit, _forever._ If he went into the Subconscious, he’d just die. He’d _die._ He wouldn’t _not_ allow himself to live in that place again. He’d find a way out, or die, somehow.

He had to hide, somewhere other than this hallway. If he stayed here, they’d find him _eventually._ And if he stayed, how was that better than the Subconscious?

(Still, he’d rather have _this_ than _that.)_

But he _did_ know a place where he could hide. It… wasn’t the _best_ spot to be. Deceit wasn’t sure if it was the safest, but it’d have to do. Better than being caught.

So Deceit stumbled to a stop, breaths coming in quick, sharp gasps as he held back sobs, and sank down into his slice of the Imagination. 

— — —

Deceit rose up to the twittering of birds, bright light, crisp air. He opened his eyes to his little paradise, his home away from home when he had needed a break from Remus. It was funny. Deceit kinda wished for the opposite of that at the moment. He’d do _anything_ to have the creative side randomly pop up and start spouting insane ways to kill someone. To have him nearby, close enough so that Deceit could smell the scent of oversweet peaches and blood on him. A hug would be nice.

Deceit shook his head. That was _not_ a safe train of thought to go down.

Deceit sniffed. His nose was runny. The crisp air wasn’t doing anything to help. 

Deceit was walking forward, almost as if his feet were moving on their own accord. He picked up the pace, not quite jogging, but not quite walking either. He had to find somewhere to hide. A cave, perhaps, so he could wait for his fever to be over and regain his power, and after that…

Well, he’d figure out what to do then.

Deceit suddenly stumbled, and that— that _loop_ around his collarbone was back, _tugging_ him forward. Deceit put a hand to his chest, rubbing his collarbone. He started to slow down to see what was the matter.

Except.

He couldn’t. 

Deceit _couldn’t_ slow down.

_Deceit wasn’t in control of his body anymore._

A flash of pain, a heat behind his eyes.

And Deceit lost consciousness.

— — —

_Lying heard someone crying._

(“Looks like _someone_ finally decided to come and play.”)

_He found him, another side, wearing green._

_“I can get us out.” the side said._

_—_

(“Ugh, how long does this spell even _last,_ anyways? I _hate_ having to wait!”)

_“I don’t want to be_ friends _with someone who_ lies _for his own gain.”_

—

_“He’s gone?”_

(“And here we go _again_ with the melodramatics. Isn’t that _Red’s_ job?)

_“I’m sorry.”_

(“I mean, get _over_ it already, right?”)

_“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”_

—

_Eyes gleamed in the darkness._

(“Ah, this one is my _favorite_ to watch.”)

_Lying stepped back._

(“So much _fear!”)_

_The Nightmare pounced._

(“But, as fun as this is, it’s time to wake up, _Deceit.”)_

_And Lying_ screamed.

— — —

Deceit gasped, waking up with tears in his eyes and his back _burning._ He immediately jolted backwards, kicking out with his foot, ready to fight, ready to do _anything,_ as long as it meant he got _away._

A rumbling noise in front of him. Deceit froze. _Was it_ here _was is going to hurt him ~~he had to get~~_ ~~away _he had to_ run _it was going to hurt him he had to_ escape _no no no no_ no~~

He was breathing hard, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His racing heart pumped adrenaline to his limbs, telling him to _run,_ to _move._ He had to _hide._

But something stopped him.

“Now, now, we can’t have you escaping, now can we? Be a good dear and _give up already.”_

Deceit’s stomach jumped into his throat. He knew that voice. 

But it _couldn’t_ be. His life wasn’t _that_ horrible, was it?

Above him, there was a deep, rumbling, _terrifying_ chuckle, “Oh I _assure_ you, it _is.”_

Deceit looked up into the ever-changing eyes on the Dragon Witch.

No. _No!_ It couldn’t—that didn’t make any _sense!_ Had the rest of the sides not _killed_ her?

  
  


The Dragon Witch bared her teeth in a twisted parody of a smile, “Oh, I am going to have _so_ much _fun_ with you!”

And Deceit lost consciousness once again.

— — —

Deceit woke up what seemed like seconds later. He immediately scrambled back, disoriented and confused. What had—what happened? He had to—to get away! He had to _run!_

His back hit a wall. He yelped and jolted away, hitting another wall. He scrabbled against it, hardly even aware of what was happening. He—he was in a cage! He had to get _out!_ He had to get _away!_

A large eye was staring at him—the—the cage was clear. That was the _Dragon Witch’s_ eye. Deceit threw himself away from it, _slam_ ming into the other side of the cage. His shoulder hurt. His back hurt. He had to get _out._

A chuckle. _Loud._ It bounced around in Deceit’s head, echoing, _deafening._ Tears budded like flowers in the corners of Deceit’s eyes as he flinched away. A sudden plea of, _Don’t hurt me,_ flashed through his head.

And suddenly he felt impossibly small again, little Lying trapped in his own room. He crouched in the corner of the cage, pressing against the walls. _Hidehidehidehide_ his mind screamed, simultaneously yelling at him to _runrunrunrun_ run.

The Dragon Witch was laying down in front of him on her belly, large and orange and terrifying. She was stretched out like a cat that was basking in the sun, talons crossed over each other, tapping the stone ground in a pattern.

“Oh, I was worried you’d be _difficult!”_ The Dragon Witch sounded pleasantly surprised, _“Gosh,_ a little trauma does _wonders_ for a prisoner’s temperament!”

Deceit’s head shot up at the word “prisoner”. _No._ No! He— _no._ He _couldn’t_ be a prisoner—he _couldn’t—he couldn’t—_

The Dragon Witch’s talon was tapping.

Rat-tat- _tat._

_No._

Rat-tat- _tat._

The— _tapping—_ it was—it was—

Rat-tat- _tat._

_Mo had always knocked like that._

Rat-tat- _tat._

_(“We need to talk,” Morality had said.)_

Rat-tat- _tat._

_“Stop.”_ Deceit gasped out, “Stop it. _Please.”_

“Hmm?” The Dragon Witch _blessedly_ paused, distracted, “Am I making you _upset?_ Ooh, _goodie!_ What was it, the tapping?”

_Lie,_ his mind told him. Deceit found that he couldn’t tell the truth if he wanted to.

“N-no.” Deceit choked out, but he could still hear it, _tapping_ and _knocking_ and _Deceit was alone alone alone again._

The Dragon Witch was silent, and Deceit was too terrified to look up and see what she was doing, hoping that she wouldn’t continue.

Then, the Dragon Witch sighed, _“Wow._ I mean, I’m _glad_ that you’re not being _difficult,_ but this is just plain _boring.”_

Almost against his will, Deceit looked up at her, and the dragon bared her teeth in a smile, her scales _clink_ ing against each other, “Let’s get to the torture, shall we? I’ve been bored for so _long!”_

And with that, Deceit was thrown into a memory.

— — —

_Lying was alone—_ _Morality had thrown him out._ _Creativity had been in pain, and then Mo—_

_They had just been right_ there… 

_Lie stood in shock for a second, blinking. Then he stumbled forward, hand outstretched, as if he could force his way back into the living room._

“No!” _Lying screamed, “Mo, please! Let me out! I_ won’t _be better! I_ won't stop _lying! I—I’ll be_ bad! _Please don’t leave me here! Mo!”_

_There was no answer._

_Lying fell, tripping on the uneven landscape, he cried out when he hit the ground, scraping his hands and knees. He scrambled back to his feet, “Mo! Lo! Creativity!” He shrieked out, “Don’t leave me here! P-please! I_ won’t _do whatever you want! I_ won’t be _whatever you want! I_ can’t _change! I’m sorry! Please don’t leave me again!”_

_They_ had _to come back. They_ had _to! Mo wasn’t—Mo wasn’t_ that _mean! They’d—they’d bring him back if he apologized enough, right?_

_Lying begged to the open air, “P-_ please, _Mo! I_ won’t _be better! I—I’ll change my Purpose! I’ll be_ Truth! _That’s good, right? I_ will _lie again!”_

_But Lying realized that lying was what he was doing_ right then, _as he was saying he_ wouldn’t. _He couldn’t_ stop. _He couldn’t stop lying. And Mo_ hated _him because of it._

“You’ve done too much to be forgiven.” _Morality’s words echoed in his head, and Lying sobbed._

“Please!” _Lying begged, throat raw, “Please don’t leave me! I-I_ will _be a bother! I_ will _talk! I—I’ll even talk to Thomas! You_ would _have to see me! Just don’t leave me here!”_

_Lying sobbed, his tears stinging his cheeks. He hugged himself. He was so_ cold, _“Morality! Please, I’m_ not _sorry! I’m not—” Lying gasped out another sob, “I’m not—I’m not sorry.” His knees hit the floor, and he curled into himself as the cold started to kick in, “Please,” he begged quietly, “please don’t leave me here.”_

_But they did._

_And Lying was cold._

— — —

Deceit was brought to wakefulness by a giggle, “Oh, that was a _good_ one! I wonder how much _more_ you have in you?”

Deceit brought his hands up to his tear stained cheeks. They were shaking, “How?” He asked hoarsely, then immediately had a coughing fit. Since when had his throat become so _sore?_ “You shouldn’t be—shouldn’t be able—”

Deceit’s quiet question immediately caught the Dragon Witch’s attention, _“How?”_ She repeated, “Shouldn’t be _able_ to? Honey, I’m an _idea!_ I’m more _flexible_ than a side!” The Dragon Witch leaned down, closer, “I have more… _wiggle room_ when it comes to matters like these.”

Deceit scrunched himself back, staring at her. She was the size of a megalodon, compared to him. He felt so… _small. Tiny._ Like he was Lying again. He—he felt—

“Oh! And speaking of wiggle room!” The Dragon Witch crowed, “You did _wonders_ coming here, sweetie! To be honest, you could have been a bit quicker in the _regeneration_ bit, but for being _Deceit,_ you sure didn’t last long with _that_ lie! It’s odd, you _literally_ can’t lie to save your life!”

Deceit scowled from his corner. _I lasted long enough, fucking Dragon_ Bitch, he thought. Not that he’d say that to the Dragon Witch’s _face,_ of course _._ He’d probably end up dead, or worse, reliving more _“fun”_ memories.

_“Why_ are you even _doing_ this?” Deceit hissed out lowly, the barest hint of a sob in his voice, “I hadn’t even _spoken_ to you before you _killed_ me. Why did you choose _me?”_

The Dragon Witch grinned, showing off her long canines, “Why choose _anyone?_ You were _there,_ sweetie. You ran _straight_ into my talons. I _was_ planning on taking the _anxious_ one when Red came with his friends—Red talks about his life a _ridiculous_ amount while fighting—but then _you_ came, unguarded and stupid. Greenie talks about you, too, so I figured it was an even trade.”

Deceit’s heart jumped in his mouth, “You were going to take _Virgil?”_ He asked before he could stop himself, “But _why?”_

The Dragon Witch laughed—Deceit was getting _really_ sick of that— _“Honey,_ isn’t it _obvious?_ You’re my _bait!”_

The air in Deceit’s lungs vanished, “Bait?” He asked, mouth dry.

The Dragon Witch cackled even louder, her head thrown back with the force of it, “Do you need an _example?_ A dictionary, maybe? Would you like me to make a powerpoint on the meaning of the word _bait?”_ She wiped away a tear of laughter from her multicolored eye with her talon, “You’re the _smell_ of a _cobra lily!_ The _worm_ on a _hook,_ the _cheese_ in the _mousetrap!_ I'm gonna keep you in here until _Creativity_ comes!” 

_Creativity?_

“Creativity, as in, only _one_ of them?” Deceit asked, “Remus?”

The Dragon Witch’s smile turned sinister, “No,” she said, “once they all come—and they _will_ come for you—” Deceit blanched, “—I’m going to separate Red and Green from their little group, and hold them _captive._ Then they’ll be _stuck_ together, and then I’ll _finally_ be able to stick them _together.”_ The Dragon Witch strung out the last word, looking at Deceit as of in anticipation.

Deceit’s eyes widened, aghast, pale with horror, “You mean—”

The Dragon Witch’s multicolored eyes held the look of an old, haunted type of insanity, crazed and unhinged. Her eyes all but glowed as she declared, “I’m going to bring back King Creativity!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm Yep I don’t Like this chapter but take it anyways—the next chapter is much better, in my opinion. 
> 
> To answer the questions I’m undoubtedly going to get— the Dragon Witch was planning on capturing Deceit as bait (instead of y’know, grabbing Roman or Remus) because of the Drama, and the killing part wasn’t _really_ in the plan, but she just kinda went with it—as you can _probably_ tells she’s a _liiiitle_ off her rocker, for reasons that will be revealed next week ;3
> 
> Oh, and speaking of off her rocker, the Dragon Witch is 100% based off of queen scarlet from wof, if you know who she is. I was *this* close from making her use the word “thrilling” lmao
> 
> Fun fact! Steven Universe ended as I was writing this chapter—it was vv sad and I cried.
> 
> And one last thing, the week _after_ next week won’t have a chapter. My family is doing something then and I won’t have time to write or upload anything, and I don’t want to fall any further behind, so...*shrug*. The next chapter is about 5k words, tho, so I mean I guess it’s even?


	29. Isle of Flightless Birds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **“Now is the climax to the story  
>  That gives the demons and angels purpose  
> They fly around while we are walking  
> And mold our emotions just to please them”**
> 
> (Warnings: manipulation, depressive/suicidal thoughts)

“You _what?”_ Deceit asked, mouth agape, eyes wide with horror,

The Dragon Witch’s eyes glittered, some unholy, insane light shining from within their multicolored depths, as she grinned ferally down at Deceit, “I’m going to bring back the King.” She repeated, then she ducked her head as she chuckled. Deceit stared at her as her giggles rose to a roaring laughter, _“I’m bringing back Creativity!”_

Deceit pressed against his corner, “You’reinsane.” He whispered, mouth dry.

The Dragon Witch stopped laughing immediately, “Bitch, you think I don’t _know? Ha!”_ She gave a sarcastic snort, “That’s what happens when your _creator_ was _split_ in _half!_ It does stuff to your mind, you know!”

“The—the Split,” Deceit stammered, “It affected you too?”

The Dragon Witch sneered at him, lip curling to reveal a canine as big as his leg, “What, like you think it _wouldn’t?_ My _mind,_ m _perspectives,_ even some of my _memories_ are _split_ into _two!_ The only things _I_ can agree about myself is what _Red_ and _Green_ can decide about me!”

“You’re defined by how the Creativities see you,” Deceit realized, “and since they can’t decide on _anything_ nowadays, you’vebeen suffering.”

The Dragon Witch’s talons scraped the ground as she growled, “I _know_ that already. Now I just have to _fix_ it and make them into _King_ again! And while I’m at it,” her expression turned dark, “I can have my revenge on that _Morality_ as well.”

_“Patton?”_ Deceit asked, aghast, “What do you have against _him?”_

“He’s the _reason_ King isn’t here anymore!” The Dragon Witch exploded, smoke pouring from her nostrils in her rage, and Deceit flinched back. Noticing this, the Dragon Witch turned her head to stare intently at him, “You want revenge, _too._ I _know_ you do.”

Deceit felt something _lurch_ in his stomach, _“What?_ N-no.” He said, trying to go for his trademark voice, the once full of confidence and disdain and class, but he could tell it didn’t come out quite right. He cursed himself.

The Dragon Witch _tsk_ ed, “Wow, I know you’re _Deceit_ and all, but you’re _really_ bad at lying.” She ducked her head to look at him better, “I _know_ you’re angry at him. You’re so _angry_ about what he did to you, that you want to do it to _him._ Don’t try to deny it.”

Deceit’s mind was reeling. Did he? Did he want to force Patton into the Subconscious?

“I—” Deceit started, conflicted, and then he shook his head, “No. I don’t want to put him in _there._ I—I’m not _really_ a villain.” _Am I?_

The Dragon Witch snickered, “Oh, poor, poor Deceit. You don’t _really_ believe that.” Her head rose again, “Wouldn’t it be so _nice?”_ She purred, “To have Morality be _just_ as miserable you were? You love balance, right? Justice? Why should it be any different with Morality?”

“Because—because—” Deceit racked his brain for a response. He didn’t—he didn’t want to, right? He wasn’t—

“Because you’re not a villain?” The Dragon Witch asked, tone disbelieving, “Honey, I _hope_ you’re joking.”

“I—why do you seem so certain?” Deceit bit his tongue in confliction, eyebrows furrowed together.

“Sweetie, I _am_ a villain.” The Dragon Witch admonished, “That is my _main trait._ I _know_ what a villain is. It’s what King _made_ me to be.”

“But that doesn’t mean—” Deceit started, but the Dragon Witch cut him off.

“Don’t you see? You’re just like _me._ Your regular clothes consists of a _black capelet_ and a _bowler hat._ Your voice—your signature one— is permanently sarcastic and just _sounds_ evil. _Not to mention_ the fact that you _repeatedly impersonate_ and _lie_ to get Thomas to do what _you_ want him to do.” The Dragon Witch waved a talon, “For someone who claimed he hates the stereotypes and social expectations of society, you do a _great_ job at neatly fitting into the _villain_ category.”

“But—” Deceit’s headache was back. He pressed his fingers to his temple, “I do it all for _good._ I—I’m not—”

_“Deceit!”_ The Dragon Witch sounded exasperated, “You _can’t_ lie about _this!_ You, of _all_ people! You’ve tried to convince Thomas to _lie_ to his _friends!_ You _literally_ can’t try to say you _aren’t_ the bad guy!”

Deceit said nothing, looking down. He tried to come up with a retort, but… he _couldn’t._ He _had_ done all those things. Once, he had even _embraced_ the title, as long as it’d get Thomas to fear him enough to listen.

“I—” He started, then broke off, wincing as the pain in his head flared. God, he felt like he was _burning_ in his own _skin._

“Oh, _poor, poor_ Deceit.” The Dragon Witch purred. The words were pitying, but Deceit could taste the all-too-sweet taste of sarcasm on her voice, “He’s been lying so much about his own _identity_ that he’s even managed to convince _himself.”_

Deceit said nothing. He didn’t know what he _could_ say. He didn’t know what would come out of his mouth, whether it was truth or lie. When had the difference between them become so blurry? Maybe he _was_ a villain? Hadn’t he _wanted_ to be one? Why was it all so _confusing_ now?

“After all, _Logic_ definitely thinks you’re bad.” The Dragon Witch continued, “And he’s the _smart_ one of their little group, so of _course_ whatever he thinks isn’t unfounded.”

That’s why the Lights had tried to erase Deceit, right? Because he was bad? That was the reason why Virgil left, wasn’t it? He was too controlling? And Remus— that’s why Remus _didn’t miss him—_

“Oh my god.” The harsh whisper felt like it was ripped out of his lungs. His hands found his hair, clutching it, “Oh my _god.”_

The Dragon Witch chuckled, “Finally see the truth? Wow, took you long enough.”

“No,” Another whisper. His lungs hurt. Had he taken a breath? He should—he should probably breathe. Deceit squeezed his eyes shut against the pain in his chest, feeling the tears glide across his scales, “no no no _no._ Oh my _god,_ no. _Shit._ I can’t—” _I can’t breathe._

Deceit curled into himself, hands pulling on his hair as if his life depended on it. He was shaking, vibrating as if he was shivering from cold, but as he did so he felt a wave of heat wash over him. Goosebumps raced in and down his limbs, and suddenly his jacket was _too tight too tight_ and then Deceit was suddenly _very_ aware of the fact he was in a _cage_ and he had to get _out because he wasn’t safe and he had to_ run—

Deceit let out a strangled scream, except it came out as more of a sob. He pressed himself into his corner, attempting to stifle the pathetic noises coming from his mouth, aware that he had an audience.

Said audience sighed, “Okay, I _know_ I said I _enjoy_ hearing you cry, but _this_ is just _annoying._ You can shut up now.”

A _cracking_ noise, as if the Dragon Witch had snapped her talons, and Deceit’s jaw slammed upwards, teeth hitting teeth with a sickening _click._

Deceit panicked even more, not able to open his mouth. _He couldn’t open his mouth and he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t talk he couldn’t run and he was trapped trapped trapped and stuck in here and he wasn’t safe he was going to die he was going to die he was going to_ die

Deceit found himself curled up against the wall of his little clear container. He sucked in air through his nose, but it didn’t even matter that he was breathing anymore because _he wasn’t getting enough air and he was going to die and he was_ trapped _and he couldn’t run because he had nowhere to run_ to.

Deceit was _alone._

With no Remus, no Virgil, no _family_ to help him.

So he curled up on the floor and cried until he, his pitiful, scaly, _villainous_ self could cry no longer.

— — —

Deceit was alive.

Deceit was _alive._

But—Deceit was _Dee._

_Deceit_ was _Dee._

Adrenaline pumped through Virgil’s veins as he ran a short burst through the hallway. He couldn’t hear Dece— Dee’s— _Deceit’s_ footsteps anymore. He had heard them earlier, when he had been in too much pain to follow. Why couldn’t he hear Deceit? Virgil could hear almost _everything_ when he was in his spider form. Mindscape hallways were endless. Virgil should be able to hear the echo! 

(What if there was a giant hole that Deceit didn’t see and he had fallen down and he was _dead_ again? What if there was a _monster_ and it had killed Deceit and that’s why Virgil couldn’t hear him? What if Deceit wasn’t really alive and Virgil had imagined it and it was j _st another DREAM—_

Someone lightly touched Virgil’s elbow.

Virgil spun around, teeth bared, only too see Roman, hands raised in a surrendering gesture.

“Sorry, sorry!” The princelike side said in a hurried voice, “I know you don’t like being touched, but you looked like you were panicking, and—” he paused and continued in a calmer voice, “Remus thinks he knows where he went.”

_“What? Where?”_ Virgil immediately reached out and gripped the sides of Roman’s arm, staring pleadingly at the side, voice distorted almost beyond recognition, _“Take me there! I need—I_ need—” Virgil faltered. 

Once he did find Deceit, what would he do then? _Yell_ at him? _Question_ him? Corner him until he had no choice but stay in Virgil’s sight _forever?_

“Hey,” Roman’s voice was soft as he guessed what Virgil was panicking about, putting his hands reassuringly on Virgil’s forearms, “We’ll get there when we’ll get there. Sure, the situation does call for a certain amount of…” he paused, looking for the right word, _“distress,_ but we’ll figure this all out, okay?”

Virgil stared at Roman for a couple more seconds, sifting through what he said, until he felt something _loosen_ in his chest. He relaxed, feeling himself shrink to his normal height, and leaned against Roman, wrapping his arms around the other’s neck and burying his face into Roman’s shoulder.

“It just doesn’t make _sense.”_ There was a sob in his voice, “Why did he _hide_ it? Was it all _fake?_ Did he even really _die?_ Was it—was it just some _plot_ to get us to _trust_ him so he could _corrupt_ Thomas? I don’t—I don’t know what to _think.”_

Virgil felt Roman hesitantly run his fingers through his hair, “Well, first we gotta _find_ him, right? And—” Roman hesitated, absently scratching at the nape of Virgil’s neck, “right before he erased my memory—at least, that’s what I’m guessing it was? It’s kinda fuzzy— he seemed more... _scared_ than _conniving,_ I think. He may have _tried_ to put on his usual show, but I remember he looked _really_ worried for you, Virge. I—I don’t think that’s something that a villain would do? I don’t think he was using us—he just looked... _scared.”_

Virgil hummed against Roman’s shoulder, his spider legs twitching as they relaxed, “I’m just so _confused.”_ He mumbled, “And _angry._ And—and happy? I don’t even know. He’s _alive_ and he didn’t _tell us.”_

Roman let out a breath, sounding tired, “...Yeah. He didn’t.”

Virgil gently pushed himself away from Roman, rubbing his eight eyes with his palms, “...I just—” he sighed, “I’m not even sure how to _function_ anymore. I mean, it hasn’t been a very long time since we _remembered_ and stuff, but— _ugh.”_ Virgil moves his hands away from his face and stared at them, clenching and unclenching them, “I feel like I’m freaking out too _much_ and not _enough_ at the same time. I want to _go_ and _find_ him, but at the same time I just want everything to be _normal_ again. I—I don’t know what the _normal_ _reaction_ to this would even be!”

Roman sighed, “I know how you feel.” Then, he motioned with his head down the hall, “C’mon. Remus is waiting.”

Turns out, Remus was _not_ waiting for them.

_“Fuck!”_ Roman hissed, dashing forward, by Dee’s — _Deceit’s_ — door, “He went off by himself! I _told_ him to wait—” he cut himself off with a sigh, “not that I’m _surprised_ that he ran off.”

“I’d be worried if he _didn’t_ do anything rash in this situation.” Virgil said, coming up behind him “Or in _any_ situation, for that matter. He’s never really been the type to act rationally, Princey.”

“No, you’re right.” Roman agreed, then bit his lip, “But I have no idea where he _went._ He just… sank out. He was sitting here, having his existential crisis, told me he knew where Deceit might have gone, and then led without any other clue to where he’d go.”

Virgil bit the inside of his cheek, the usual nervousness roiling in his gut. Oh, _why_ did they all have to get that _stupid_ hangover thing when they broke out of Deceit’s memory-wipe? Now he had disappeared to _who knows where_ and Remus had followed him and Virgil was having a _very_ hard time staying _rational_ and keeping the lid on his panic _because this was a very panic-worthy situation, don’t you think?_

Roman shifted awkwardly, “You’re...uh, getting taller again.” 

Virgil snapped back to reality with a couple of blinks. He looked down at his now lankier form and sighed, quickly running through his four-seven-eight breath count before focusing back on Roman, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Roman assured, before going back to the topic at hand, “I just—Aggh! I don’t know where Remus _is!_ I’m worried what he’ll _do_ if he finds Deceit all by himself! Deceit ran off for a _reason,_ a very _obvious_ one! If Remus scares him off again I’m not sure what we’ll _do!”_ Roman raked his hand through his hair and over his face, “He’s always been… a little overwhelming. If he just _barges_ into wherever Deceit is and starts barraging him with questions and stuff, Deceit’s going to get even _more_ scared and then we won’t get any answers!”

“Wait…” An idea struck Virgil, “y’know how you and Remus were arguing earlier?”

Roman winced, “I overreacted, I _know._ I was just upset that Remus was still treating _Dee_ as _Deceit_ and taking him on _trips_ through the Imagination—” his eyes widened as he realized, “and he said didn’t _remember.”_

Virgil nodded, “Do you think…?”

Roman nodded in confirmation, eyebrows furrowing as he bit his lip in thought, “That was yesterday, and given the state he was in when…” his mumbling trailed off, “Oh _shit.”_

Panic gripped Virgil like a vice at the fear in Roman’s tone, “What? What is it?”

“When Deceit hypnotized you,” Roman started, “I remember he looked really… _weak_ afterwards. Like, I’m pretty sure he almost passed out. If he hypnotized Remus so recently after us, and _that_ was _yesterday…”_

Virgil felt his four pairs of eyes widen, “He _did_ look like shit before he ran off.”

“Roman? Virgil?” A voice off to the side, by the entrance of the hallway. _Logan._ Virgil felt a little squirming of anger in his gut—but he couldn’t get distracted by that now. Deceit could be in _actual_ danger right now and Virgil was _not_ going to let him die again.

Roman turned around, “Logan.” He acknowledged, voice carefully even, almost like Logan’s own.

Virgil noted Patton standing behind Logan. He _would_ have demanded to know where they had been this whole time, but judging from how Patton was wearing his cat hoodie, looking down, and not making any eye contact with anyone, it didn’t really need to be said. It also helped that Virgil could sense the cloud of guilt — Virgil was getting better at sensing it — that was hovering around Patton like a swarm of angry wasps.

“I assume Remus went off by himself?” Logan asked. He wasn’t looking at Virgil. Virgil felt his upper lip twitch as his eyes blinked, one right after the other. 

Roman nodded in confirmation, “I think he went back to the place where Deceit hypnotized him, in his realm.”

Logan blinked, eyebrows furrowing, “Can you get us there?”

“I _think_ so.” Roman looked a bit apprehensive, “It’s a bit harder for me to rise up into Remus’s realm, but…” he sighed, “yes, I can do it. Hold on, this might feel weirder than normal.”

Which meant it was a fucking _hell ride_ for Virgil.

He rose up, shaking his head and blinking out the dots in his vision. Rising up was _already_ hell, but that? That was _awful._

Beside him, Roman wobbled as well. He almost fell, actually. At Virgil’s concerned glance, he smiled sheepishly, “Just head rush, don’t worry.”

Accepting this answer, Virgil snapped back to the task at hand. They were… in some sort of clearing? With a bunch of really big rocks? Like, boulder-sized?

Virgil heard sniffling to his left. Immediately, his head swiveled towards the sound. With his enhanced sight (also with the fact that he had _eight_ eyes) he could see the top of someone’s head behind a rock, and he was willing to bet that that _someone_ was a certain green-clad Creativity. 

Patton, next to him, followed his gaze, and he puffed his tear stained cheeks out, a little whine at the back of his throat.

Roman and—ugh, _Logan—_ noticed Remus as well. Virgil looked at them in indecision. As much as he _loved_ having a sobbing and most likely _panicked_ Remus on his hands, he didn’t want to be the first one to confront him, because _then_ he’d most likely get _bludgeoned_ with Remus’s morningstar and Virgil didn’t really think he could _handle that_ right now.

Roman was the first to advance, padding towards Remus with surprising quietness. He stopped a few feet away from his brother, and Virgil could read his apprehension in the tense lines in his shoulders.

Remus didn’t look up, “He asked me _why.”_ He said from where he sat.

Roman was the only one to answer, “Why what?”

“He asked me why I _betrayed_ him.” Remus spat out, “He thinks—he thinks we’re going to _hurt_ him.” 

Roman faltered, and Virgil heard Patton intake a sharp breath. Virgil’s own chest tightened and he felt his eight eyes widen. He didn’t think the situation could get even _worse—_ though, honestly, at this point, he should just start expecting it.

Remus sat up and turned around, looking past Virgil to glare daggers at Patton. His voice was as vicious and sharp as a poisoned knife, “He thinks we were going to send him back _there.”_

Patton stumbled back, as if the blades in Remus’s gaze and voice had actually stabbed him. Virgil, with his enhanced hearing, could hear the side’s heart rate pick up, beating a frantic beat, “No,” Patton whimpered, “I… _I—”_ his voice grew louder with panic, and he gripped the sides of his head, pulling on his hair as his eyes refilled with tears, “I s-said— _I didn’t mean—h-he—”_

Logan took a step towards Patton, and the crying side crumpled against his chest, clutching Logan’s shirt and wailing into it.

Virgil took a step towards Patton, hand stretched out towards him, ready to comfort him, but he hesitated. He looked towards Roman, “Back _where?_ I — I don’t _understand.”_

Roman’s face looked pained as he looked at Patton, eyebrows drawn together, and his jaw slightly dropped in distress. He glanced at Virgil, opening and closing his mouth. He looked anguished, and nothing left his mouth except for little false starts, until he just shook his head, looking back at Patton.

Virgil turned to Remus, but he stubbornly wasn’t looking at Virgil, watery and red eyes glaring off into the distance.

Virgil looked around at the clearing. Logan was avoiding his eyes, too, looking down at Patton as he rubbed his back with surprising gentleness. 

Was no one going to _tell_ him?

Virgil felt frustration climb up his throat, distorting his words, _“Arggh!_ Why aren’t you guys _telling_ me anything? I’m so _tired_ of trying to piece this shit together by myself!”

“Oh, so _you’ve_ never hidden anything from us, then?” Roman’s head snapped back to look at Virgil.

“Oh, so _now_ you’re talking?” Virgil demanded, more frustration rising up his throat, “And the things I hid were _mine_ to hide, but now I’m hearing that Deceit’s _scared_ of us? Oh, Deceit’s _back,_ by the way! And he _hid his identity_ from us because he thought _we_ were going to _hurt_ him! That _kinda_ impacts my life, _don’t you think?_ I feel like I deserve to know _”_

“Oh, like not telling _Thomas,_ y’know, our _host_ that you have _sworn to protect,_ remember _him?”_ Roman spat out, tone getting angrier, “Not telling _him_ that you were a _Dark Side_ definitely _didn’t_ impact his life at _all,_ right?”

“That’s _different_ and you _know_ it!” Virgil snapped back, “At least I _try_ to protect Thomas! What do you do? Protect him from _Remus?_ You did a _mighty_ fine job of _that!”_

Roman crossed his arms, “I’d say I did well _enough!”_

Virgil barked out a derisive laugh, “I guess you _did!_ Hell, you did _so_ well that you even _split in half_ in order to get _rid_ of him!”

Remus was on his feet now, “Stop _talking_ about me like I’m not even _here!”_ He screeched, “I’m tired of being _ignored!”_

_“Ignored?”_ Roman turned on Remus, “You’ve never been ignored a day in your _life,_ Remus! _I’m_ the one who keeps on having to _fight_ for my ideas to even be _considered!”_

“Never been ignored?” Remus scoffed, _“Never been ignored?_ Roman, my _stupid_ brother, try living with _one_ other man, who spent _days_ in his room, _trying to figure out how to be listened to!_ Never been _ignored.”_ He laughed cruelly, _“God,_ listen to yourself! It’s not like you were ever _around_ to know!”

Roman’s hands curled into fists, “W-well, if Deceit _ignored_ you so much, why do you even _love_ him, _huh?_ Why aren’t you yelling at _him?”_

“Because he was the _first person_ in my _life_ who _ever_ showed me an _ounce_ of kindness!” Remus exploded, stepping past his rock to get in Roman’s face, “He’s the _only_ one who didn’t _reject_ me!” His gaze locked into Virgil’s, “He’s the only one who didn’t _leave.”_

Virgil growled, stepping forward, “I _apologized_ for that, Remus. And if you don’t want me to _leave,_ how about you try not to _lie_ to me for my entire _life!_ You _and_ Deceit hid _so much_ from me! More than I ever even _knew_ , apparently.” He snarled, then glared back at Roman, “It’s a shame the Light Sides decided to do the _exact same thing.”_

“Oh, _shut it,_ _Grim Gloom!”_ Roman retorted, “No one _asked_ you to come! _Fuck,_ I _discouraged_ it! Why the _fuck_ did you _stay,_ if you hate it so much, you—you _Un_ fun Ghoul!”

_“Oh,_ so we’re back to hurtful nicknames, _Princey?”_ Virgil spat, “Using Frank Iero against me? I thought we were _done_ with that!”

“And _I_ thought we were done with you being the _villain, Anxiety.”_ Roman retaliated, _“But_ _look what happened!”_

Virgil took a step back, eight eyes widening in shock. Then rage overtook the hurt, even as his eyes filled with tears. He _hissed._ It was more of a scream, really, filled with fear and hurt and _anger_ and everybody _flinched._ Virgil screeched at Roman, spider legs flared out, _“Me? I’m_ the villain? I’m sorry, _who_ was the one who didn’t _care_ that I _ducked out?”_ He ignored the tears getting into his lower eyes, “The one that said it was _better_ that I was gone? If anything, _you’re_ the villain here, Princey, not me!” 

“Wait, _ducked out?”_ Remus’s voice was now small, and he looked at Virgil with wide eyes.

“Oh fuck _off,_ Remus!” Virgil snapped, turning to him, “It’s not like you would have _fucking_ cared, _either!_ You’re still mad that I left, _remember?”_

Roman had taken a step back, his own eyes filling with tears. A few of them escaped, running down his cheeks as he screamed back at Virgil, “I _apologized_ for that, _asshole!_ You said you _forgave_ me for that!”

“Well, maybe I _lied!”_ Virgil snarled, “What are you going to do about it? _Kick me out_ _again?_ Make me live alone in the corner of the mindscape? Put me in the—the—” Where had he been sent? Virgil pulled at his hair, _“Fuck,_ I don’t even _remember_ where you put me!”

“Wouldn’t have _cared?”_ Remus repeated, _“Roman_ didn’t care?”

_“I said I was sorry!”_ Roman’s scream was raw, full of _anger_ and _guilt_ that had sat and _festered_ for two years. He inhaled shakily, hiccuping, “I said I was _sorry.”_ He repeated, pressing his palms to his eyes.

“You’re _sorry.”_ Remus repeated, then he scoffed, “You’re _sorry._ Is that something you can even be _sorry_ for? Does sorry even _cut_ it? Can you even be _forgiven_ for that? Roman, I thought _I_ was supposed to be the horrible one.”

“You know what? _Fuck it!”_ Roman spat out, ripping his hands from his eyes and turning around towards his brother, “What do you _want_ from me? What the _fuck_ can I do to make up for that? Tell me, _what_ is it that I can do? Do you think I don’t fucking _know_ how awful I was? Do you know how _long_ I’ve _sat_ on this? I can’t go a fucking _day_ without feeling guilty! And then I learned—and then I learned that Virgil’s had fucking _panic attacks_ because of _me_ and—and— _fuck!”_ Roman cursed, kicking a boulder beside him. 

“Hell, I was the one who kicked him out of the Light Sides, _too,_ Remus! What the _fuck_ can I do to make up for _that?”_ He demanded, then an almost _crazed_ note entered his voice, “I—I could duck out, if you want! I could duck out right _now!_ I could just—just _die!_ Would _that_ make up for it, _Remus?_ You’d be the only Creativity, then. Then _maybe_ you’d get that _attention_ you wanted.” He laughed, “Not that you’d find _much,_ anyways. But _hey,_ I’m sure that you all would be _happier,_ right?” He spun around to look at Virgil, _“Right?”_

Virgil’s spider legs had dropped as his mounting horror grew throughout Roman’s speech, realizing what he’d said to him, and he didn’t try to stop the apprehension and anguish and _guilt_ in his voice as he spoke, taking a step forward, _“Roman…”_ he couldn’t say anymore, too horrified— _guilty—_ to speak. The others seemed to have the same dilemma. 

Roman looked around the clearing, at everyone’s shocked faces, and groaned, “Oh my _god,_ guys. What, you’re surprised that I’m the first one to say it? Don’t deny that you haven’t _thought_ about it!” Roman spun towards his brother, “Remus, every time you start to cry, someone has to stop you from _skewering_ your arm clean through! I _know_ you have nightmares every night—fuck, who _hasn’t?_ And I _know_ that sometimes you just _wish_ that you could go join Deceit, _wherever_ sides go when they die!” At Remus’s shocked expression, Roman scoffed, “Remus, I represent Thomas’s _hopes_ and _dreams._ I’m pretty good at guessing _other’s_ hopes and dreams. I may be stupid, but I’m not _that_ dumb.”

Roman turned back towards Virgil, “And Virgil, you can’t even go to sleep for more than two hours! Don’t think I haven’t noticed your eye bags getting bigger under that makeup! You’re halfway _delirious_ for the majority of the day! And _Patton—”_ Roman gestured to where the side was now crumpled on the ground, staring at Roman with wide eyes as Logan hugged him protectively, “Patton can’t even bring himself to _eat_ anymore! And _Logan—”_ Roman grabbed at his hair in frustration, “I don’t even _know_ what's up with _you!_ You’ve been talking and socializing less and _less,_ and then _suddenly_ you decide that Deceit’s a _villain?_ What the _fuck?_ I wonder how you _feel_ now that he’s back? Not that you feel _anything,_ right?”

“And _me—”_ Roman laughed, a cruel, self-deprecating laugh, “don’t even get me _started._ I can’t even do _anything_ right!” Virgil tensed, remembering Roman saying that _exact thing_ when they had walked through the woods. God, why hadn’t he taken it _seriously?_ Roman continued, “I can’t even do my _one fucking job_ anymore! Thomas is making videos even _less_ now and I can’t even keep up with what he’s doing _now!_ Nowadays, I can hardly call myself _Creativity,_ let alone a _prince.”_

Roman glanced around again at the silent clearing and laughed once more, “Oh my _god._ We’re _all_ so fucking _depressed_ that—” he cut himself off, sounding horrified, “Oh my god.”

Virgil took another step forward, opening his mouth to say something, but Roman waved him off, spinning around, facing the center of the Imagination, “Oh my _fucking god.”_

“What? What is it?” Virgil asked.

“What the—I…I can _feel_ her. She’s _here.”_

_Her?_

“Virgil.” Roman said, still looking into the distance, “How far away can someone be able to sense them?”

“Pretty far?” Virgil said uncertainly, “I don’t see why…”

“Just do it, please. Do your thing.” Roman said, “And try to see if you can sense Deceit, too.”

_Who_ else _would I be sensing?_

Virgil complied, closing his eyes and stretched out his awareness, searching for the familiar feeling of someone else’s anxiety. His eyebrows furrowed in the silence that followed. Was this just a trick to pull their minds off of what Roman had just said? Virgil worried at his lip, “I don’t—”

He found him.

Correction, he found _them._ One was a concentrated ball of fear and terror, that he couldn’t imagine to be anyone else than _Deceit._ But… there was _another_ one, it’s anxieties small, but the transmitter impossibly huge, as big as a—as big as a _dragon._

Virgil’s eyelids shot open.

Or a Dragon _Witch._

“Oh my _god.”_ Virgil breathed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **“All we are is an isle of flightless birds  
>  We find our worth in giving birth and stuff  
> We're lining our homes against winding roads  
> And we think the going is tough  
> We pick songs to sing, remind us of things that no body cares about  
>  _And honestly we're probably more suicidal than ever now.”_**


	30. Trauma, Torture, and Terror!! :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyyy,,,, back from the break! Let’s see how many more mental breakdowns I can fit in this chapter!!
> 
> (That’s a joke)
> 
> (Probably)
> 
> **Warnings: uhhh, claustrophobia and body horror**

“They’re _coming!”_ The Dragon Witch sing-songed to Deceit.

Deceit felt a flash of fear, and he straightened from his slumped position in the corner of his container, but at the same time, he felt _relieved._ Even if they’d send him into the Subconscious afterwards, at least he’d be saved from the Dragon Witch. He wasn’t sure if he could take much longer being subject to this _torture_ any longer.

The Dragon Witch had thrown him into even more flashbacks—only some of them magic-induced. Along the way, she had discovered that she could use _tapping_ to keep him on a metaphorical _leash_ whenever he did something she didn’t like—like breaking out of the silencing spell to scream as loud as he can, or throwing himself at the invisible walls, hoping to weaken the forcefield enough to break free.

Deceit shuddered at the memory. His shoulder still hurt. And he was pretty sure he was dehydrated from all the crying he had done. The human half of his face felt all sticky and soft now. 

Also he was pretty sure he still had a fever. He wasn’t sure. Reality just seemed so… _off,_ that he really wasn’t sure of _anything_ right now. Maybe he _did_ have a fever, but that could just be his headache from crying so hard. Oh, what the fuck, of _course_ he still had a fever. Because his life was just _that bad._

Deceit waved to the Dragon Witch to get her attention, then tapped his wrist, _When will they come?_

The Dragon Witch glanced at him, “Oh, so _you’re_ impatient? Try waiting over _twenty years_ for this!”

Deceit tilted his head, trying to convey, _Why wait until now?_

The Dragon Witch peered at him, “You think I’m going to tell you anything? Wait till the monologue like everybody else!”

Deceit sighed frustratedly through his nose. The Dragon Witch stuck to the rules of being bad like she was some sort of comedic _Disney_ villain. No, not Disney—she acted like _Megamind,_ or Dr. Doofenshmirtz, but _actually_ evil. She cared _so much_ about the presentation, and—and _whatever_ she was rambling about earlier, going on and on about appearances and routine, it was almost as if she was preparing for some _date!_

“Any minute now!” The Dragon Witch’s tail lashed in excitement, and Deceit watched the whiplike appendage warily. It was about fifteen feet long, and the spine ridges that ran all the way down her tail looked razor-sharp, “Deceit, go sit and be pretty. Try to look as _pitiful_ as possible. I want to see their little looks of horror when they see you!” She cackled, “Oh, the King is going to _love_ the dramatics! I’m so _excited!”_

Deceit followed the Dragon Witch’s gaze, looking on with a sick feeling in his stomach. He was starting to have second thoughts, now. Did he want them to come? Maybe the Dragon Witch was safer. After all, nightmares of the Subconscious were better than _actually_ being in the Subconscious, right? Maybe the Dragon Witch could kill him again, and he’d respawn with no memories and then he wouldn’t even _remember_ the Subconscious.

Deceit tilted his head, surprised at the thought. Things _were_ easier as Dee, weren’t they? 

But no. Deceit remembered the feeling of _uselessness,_ a loss of his _Purpose,_ and shook his head. He was _nothing_ without his Purpose. He didn’t want to remember what it felt like to have no meaning in life. He may be traumatized, but he had a direction, a _function._ To live in the Mindscape without a function… that was hardly _living_ at _all._ He’d just be… a spirit in the Fields of Asphodel, aimless. Not miserable, but not happy, either. 

Deceit shuddered.

The Dragon Witch squealed, “So close, so _close!_ Okay, um…” Deceit turned and met her gaze as she inspected him, “Places, everyone? I’m here, _you’re_ here, I got the traps ready…” the Dragon Witch trailed off with a hum, “What am I missing?” Her talon tapped her chin thoughtfully, and she brightened, “Oh! Duh. _Costumes!_ Where would we be without _those?”_

The Dragon Witch snapped her talons, and to Deceit’s shock and _elation,_ he found himself in his old clothes again, hat and all.

Deceit gaped in surprise (or, well, as best as he could with his mouth closed), and his gloved— _fully gloved!—_ hands reached up to his hat—his _hat!_ His bowler hat! And he didn’t even have to worry about anybody finding out that he remembered he was Deceit, because everybody _already knew!_

Deceit twisted around to admire his caplet—he could actually _turn around!_ His stupid leather jacket was _gone!_ And he had his snake symbol, too! And his crisp pants—and shoes—and—

The skin on Deceit’s back pulled familiarly and he twisted to admire himself. Deceit paused, and rolled up his sleeve.

—and scars, too. The Dragon Witch had restored his scars.

Well.

_That_ was less exciting. Oh, well. Not like anyone would _see_ them in the Subconscious.

Deceit’s stomach twisted as he realized how much of a _done deal_ it was. Either Roman and Remus would defeat the Dragon Witch, and then he’d be sent to the Subconscious again by Mo— _Patton,_ or the Dragon Witch would _win_ (very unlikely) and torture him with _memories_ of the Subconscious.

He wasn’t sure which one was worse.

_“Deceit.”_ The Dragon Witch hissed, “Look pretty. They’re here.”

Deceit’s heart leaped into his throat, and he twisted around to the direction the Dragon Witch was looking, towards the woods, about fifty yards away. He set his hands on the side of the forcefield as he looked out, leaning against it. The Dragon Witch shifted in her resting spot, clearing her throat, and no doubt trying to look regally bored.

And fifty yards away, five people burst out of the woods. Deceit’s breath hitched as his mental countdown started, and he closed his eyes, curling his gloved hands into fists against the forcefield, taking deep breaths through his nose. It was _fine,_ he had accepted his fate. It was… it was…

Oh _gods,_ Deceit was _terrified._

“Well, well, _well!”_ The Dragon Witch’s voice boomed across the stone clearing, and Deceit flinched at the sudden noise, “Looks like the little adventurers _finally_ made it! Did you all have a nice _chat_ just now? Your emotions were _very_ strong!”

“I’m going to _kill_ you!” A shout rang out, and Deceit’s eyes flashed open. _Remus._ He had his morningstar out, sprinting towards the Dragon Witch.

The Dragon Witch just laughed, and Deceit heard her snap her talons, a sound which he was now coming to loathe, and Remus ran into an invisible wall. Remus stumbled back, then tried to smash the wall with his morningstar, but it ricocheted off, and Remus reeled back, slamming into the other side of his cage. Remus yelped and spun around, pounding his fists against the forcefield in confusion.

“Hey!” Roman yelled, catching on to what had happened, “Let my brother go!”

Roman ran faster, sword ready in an apparent move to smash the invisible cage. Deceit banged on his own cage, trying to tell him, _No, that’s exactly what she wants!,_ but Roman didn’t pay attention. He swiped at where the cage should’ve been, and Deceit saw his shock as the sword went through, and he stumbled straight into the cage, now trapped along with Remus.

Deceit made a frustrated noise at the back of his throat as the Dragon Witch laughed, “Well, _that_ was _astoundingly_ easy! You two aren’t the smartest in the bunch, are you?”

Deceit saw Roman clench his fists.

Virgil, Logan, and—and Patton stumbled to a stop, and the Dragon Witch sneered at them, “Oh, _stopping_ isn’t going to help the fact that I’m going to trap you, too.” She snapped her talons with a laugh, then made a motion as if to swipe them to the side.

The three sides were flung to the side, towards Deceit. They yelped as they were herded by the cage like spiders under a cup, until the cage stopped moving about ten feet away from Deceit’s own. They paused, dazed for a second, but then Virgil, who’s full spider gear was out, turned his eight-eyed attention to Deceit. Deceit flinched back from his gaze, avoiding eye contact with him.

The Creativitwins’ cage had moved, too, right up to the Dragon Witch, where they could have her full attention.

“Release us, you foul being!” Roman demanded, voice muffled by the cage, “Let us fight you!”

The Dragon Witch chuckled, “Oh, _Red,_ brash as always. Thankfully, though, if everything goes to plan, that won’t last for very much longer!”

Deceit’s attention was drawn away from Roman’s confused reply by Virgil banging on the side of his cage, voice muffled, _“Deceit!”_ The side shouted, voice distorted, _“Deceit, are you okay? Did she hurt you?”_

Deceit allowed himself to make a face at Virgil. _First of all, why do you even care? And second of all, what kind of question is_ that?

Virgil seemed to understand, at least the second part, and his face grew pained, _“God, Deceit, I’m so sorry.”_

Before Deceit could try to figure out what _that_ meant, there was a pounding noise on his other side. 

_“Deceit!”_ Remus yelled out, and Deceit spun around. His breath caught as he made eye contact with Remus. The same thing seemed to happen to the side in front of him. Remus blinked, seemingly taking in Deceit in full costume. 

Deceit wondered absently how much of a shock it was to see him in his regular clothes after so long, but the main part of him was stuck on Remus’s hand clenching and unclenching against the forcefield, his eyes filling with tears.

“Deceit?” Remus’s voice was small, and Deceit blinked at the uncertainty in it. His vision was blurry, and he felt tears gather at the corner of his eyes as Remus said his name again, pleadingly, _“Deceit?”_ At the lack of answer—Deceit _couldn’t_ answer— Remus tried again, “Are you—are you going to talk to me?”

Deceit would have gaped at Remus as he realized the role reversal. As it was, with his mouth shut, he could only look pleadingly back, pressing his hand against the invisible wall of the cage.

But Remus’s face told him he didn’t understand, and Deceit saw tears spilling past Remus’s cheeks as he blinked, “Is this— is this your payback?” Remus’s muffled voice was choked, “For me not saying anything in the woods?”

_No._ Deceit started to shake his head emphatically, a whine of frustration in the back of his throat, but the Dragon Witch’s voice rang out, sharp, “Deceit, are you being _rude_ to my guests? _I’m_ the one they should be paying _attention_ to!”

Deceit glared back at her, before turning back at Remus. He didn’t _care_ what she did at this point.

_“Deceit!”_ The Dragon Witch snapped, and Deceit barely held back a flinch. He tapped on the side of his cage, but Remus was staring at the Dragon Witch. 

Deceit pounded harder, but then a ringing, petrifying, _terrifying_ rat-tat- _tat_ tapping sounded out.

Deceit’s mind filled with nothing but white-hot, mindnumbing fear, and he flinched violently, jolting back into his corner, hands reaching up to grab the rim of his hat. A deep, _primal_ fear took control of his lungs, and he pressed back into his corner as if he was trying to meld into it.

_(“We need to talk,” Morality had said.)_

Muffled shouts around him turned into static as he struggled to control the sudden nausea that rose up. _Goddammit,_ he was _not_ going to have a panic attack in front of the others. He was _not._ It was—it was _weak,_ to be so _terrified_ of such an innocent sound. He had to get everything _under control._

Sound slowly returned to him as Deceit clutched his hat and inhaled slowly through his nose.

_(“What the_ fuck _did you do to him?”_ Virgil was yelling, voice distorted almost beyond recognition.)

Exhale.

(“Why, it was only a little tap!” The Dragon Witch’s voice was deceptively innocent, “I didn’t do anything wrong!”)

Inhale. _Don’t cry._

(“I’m going to tear you _limb from limb,_ you _motherfucker!”_ Remus snarled, and Deceit heard the _cracks_ of his morningstar smashing against his cage.)

_Exhale._

_(“What was it, some sort of_ spell?” Virgil challenged, _“It has to be_ something, _you bitch! What did you_ do?”)

Inhale, Deceit. Don’t pay attention to them. Don't think about the Subconscious. You’re _fine._

(“Oh, _Anxiety,_ you _ignorant_ little spider.” The Dragon Witch said condescendingly, “I didn’t do _anything._ It’s all _Deceit’s_ doing, isn’t that right, _Morality?”)_

_Don’t_ panic, Deceit. Don’t panic. Just breathe. Inhale, hold, exhale.

_(“...Patton?”_ Virgil sounded unsure.)

A sob.

Deceit looked up, and met Mo’s— _Patton’s_ eyes. They were filled with tears, and Deceit saw Patton heaving for breath, much like Deceit was doing now.

Patton was the first to look away, turning to bury his head in Logan’s chest, wailing.

“Patton?” Logan asked, immediately wrapping his arms around the side, “Patton, what’s wrong?”

Decor heard the Dragon Witch chuckle, “Yes, _Morality,_ why don’t you share with the class?”

Patton screamed wordlessly. The sound was loud, even though it was muffled by Logan’s chest and the forcefield.

_“Patton!”_ Logan sounded alarmed, and he pulled away to cup the side’s face, “What is it?”

“My _knock!”_ Patton sobbed, voice shrill, “That's my _knock!”_ He sniffed, snot and tears smeared on his flushed face. His glasses were fogged up, and Deceit couldn’t help but be shocked at the _pain_ in Patton’s voice. Deceit’s mind stuttered, struggling to entertain the idea—the thought that—

Logan emitted a small gasp, face going slack, and he let Patton sob into his shirt again, “Oh my _god.”_ Logan looked at Deceit, “Patton’s knock is a _trigger.”_

_“What?”_ Virgil, voice still distorted, looked back and forth between Patton and Deceit, _“But that—he’s been—Deceit?”_

Deceit couldn’t stop himself from quickly glancing at Virgil, meeting the side’s uncertain gaze. Deceit had never told Virgil about the Subconscious. He hadn’t been in it long enough to even remember it, and Deceit sure as _hell_ wasn’t going to let Virgil be even _more_ terrified of the world. By the time Virgil had even came to the Dark Sides, Deceit had mostly gotten over the Subconscious. 

(Not counting the, y’know, _routine_ nightmares and flashbacks and panic attacks and random dissociative episodes)

(Well, it had been better than he was _before,_ at least.)

Virgil’s eyes were pleading, begging for an answer, but Deceit could do nothing but give a helpless shrug, looking back down at the ground.

The Dragon Witch sighed, “Morality, shut _up,_ before I have to silence you like I did _Deceit.”_

“You did _what?”_ Twin shouts of outrage came from either side of him, one from Virgil and one from Roman. Remus just let out a strangled cry and, from the sounds of it, hit the wall of his cage again. 

Deceit didn’t move his eyes from the ground.

Deceit heard the Dragon Witch chuckle, “Oh, did I forget to mention that? The snake isn’t so slippery now, is he? No more of that _silver tongue_ of his.” Out of the corner of his eye, Deceit saw her orange scales move closer as she bent her head down towards him, her tone smooth (Like Deceit’s voice used to be. Suave and dignified and confident and everything he _wasn’t),_ “After all, you can’t _lie_ when you can’t _speak.”_

Deceit pulled his oh-so- _comforting_ hat over his eyes as humiliated tears started to roll down his cheeks. He didn’t know if he could reach a lower point than _this._ Induced into a panic attack by a measly _sound,_ and then the Dragon Witch just takes away his remaining shreds of dignity? He didn’t think he could _stand_ to see the side’s concern over him—he didn’t want to think of the _implications_ of it, didn't want to entertain the idea that maybe he had been _wrong_ — been wrong for _weeks._ He just didn’t— he couldn’t—he—

Deceit sucked in a shaky breath through his nose. Remus was yelling, asking if he was okay. Deceit realized that the Dragon Witch’s words were very ambiguous; she had made it sound like she had cut off his tongue. Deceit pinched the _stupid_ tears out of his eyes, sitting up and making eye contact with Remus. He brought his right hand to his chest, thumb pressed to his shirt, the rest of his fingers splayed out into the air. It was the symbol for “I’m fine,” in ASL. He hoped that Remus still remembered what little they had learned when they were kids, from when one of them became nonverbal.

Remus seemed to get the message and sagged against the forcefield in relief.

_“Deceit.”_ The Dragon Witch snapped, “Stop distracting Greenie or I’ll paralyze your arms, too.”

Deceit snapped his arm back, returning his eyes to the ground.

The Dragon Witch’s voice was smug, “There, now that he’s shut up now, I can finally get to the main point!”

“Why the _fuck_ are you even _doing_ this?” Roman shouted to Deceit’s left, “What do you even _gain?_ How are you even _alive_ right now? We _killed_ you!”

The Dragon Witch’s voice was impatient, “Red, I _just_ said I was getting the main point. Really, _do_ please try to keep up.”

Roman made a frustrated noise.

“And you, of _all_ people, should know that only _one_ person can kill me.” The Dragon Witch continued.

“Who in the _world_ would be able kill you if Remus and I, the ones who _made_ you, weren’t able to?” Roman cried out in frustration.

_Bang!_

Deceit looked up in alarm, certain that he would see two smushed Creativies splattered on the ground. But no, the Dragon Witch had just slammed her talons on the ground next to them, half-risen from her laying-down position. _(Fuck,_ she was _ginormous.)_

_“You didn’t create me!”_ The Dragon Witch roared, impossibly loud, smoke starting to escape her nostrils in anger. Everybody flinched back, even Logan, “You’re _nothing_ like him! Even working _together,_ you _useless_ excuses of Creativities don’t even _compare_ to him!”

Deceit heard a sharp intake of breath to his right. He could practically _feel_ the anger radiating off of Virgil, but the side stayed silent. He was smart.

Roman, unfortunately, was less so, “So is that what this is? This _whole_ thing?” Roman’s voice was flat, but Deceit could feel the rage bubbling beneath it, “You missed the King, so you killed Deceit and now you’re trapping us. How in the _world_ does that make sense?”

“Tell me, Red, what do _you_ think?” The Dragon Witch asked, voice calmer, but still pointed, “Do you think I _wouldn’t_ miss the King, my _creator?”_

“It’s been _twenty years!”_ Roman cried out, sounding exasperated, “And why do you only call the King and _Deceit_ by their names? What makes _them_ so special?”

Deceit tore his eyes from the ground to give Roman an incredulous look. ‘Deceit’ was a _title,_ not a _name._ Not that Deceit had _told_ anyone his name, he had too many trust issues for _that._ ‘Deceit’ worked pretty well as a moniker, no need for anything else.

“Oh _honey.”_ The Dragon Witch shook her ginormous head as she settled back, “I swear, it’s like every day you get more and more _stupid._ How can you not remember your own _name?_ And what _else_ would you want me to call the little snake?” The Dragon Witch turned her petrifying gaze towards Deceit, and he froze, staring up at her, “‘Self-preservation’? ‘Selfishness’? ‘Deceit’ just rolls off the tongue _so_ much better, don’t you think?”

Virgil, who had been growling under his breath, spoke up, voice still distorted, _“Hold up,_ I’m _self-preservation! We can’t share a Purpose!”_

“You and Morality both serve as _depression,_ do you not?” The Dragon Witch turned to look slyly at Deceit, “Although, I’m not entirely sure if it’s a _nature_ or _nurture_ situation with your little _Deceit_ here. Spending _months_ alone in the Subconscious really _does_ something to you, wouldn’t you say?”

Deceit stiffened at the mention of the Subconscious, and Virgil spoke up again, surprise making the distortion in his voice vanish, “The Subconscious?”

The Dragon Witch laughed, “Oh, has no one told you? I bet _Morality_ would be able to fill you in on all the details, isn't that right, _Mo?”_

Deceit flinched at the nickname, and to his surprise, Patton did too. The side had curled up into a ball against the wall of the cage, much like Deceit had. At the mention of his age-old nickname, his shaking sobs returned, and Logan, who had been surprisingly quiet this entire time, pressed up protectively against him, glaring at the Dragon Witch.

“Get to the _point,”_ Remus snapped, hands balled up into fists, “or I’m gonna—gonna rip up your insides and use them like glue!”

“Greenie, darling,” The Dragon Witch drawled, “shut up before I hurt your _precious_ Deceit some more.” She smirked as Remus’s mouth closed with a _snap,_ “Usually I’d just cast a spell on you, but I’m afraid that’d interfere with the ritual.”

“What ritual? What are you going to do to us?” Roman yelled at the Dragon Witch.

“Tell me, Red, Green,” the Dragon Witch started, completely ignoring Roman, stretching out her neck to curl round their cage, “do you remember when we were younger? You gave me a name, back then. Do you remember what it was?”

“Listen, Dragon Witch,” Roman’s voice was barely controlled, “we’ve been _through_ this. We don’t have _any_ memories of the King. Like you literally _just_ said, we _aren’t_ him.”

“Not even a _little_ bit?” The Dragon Witch urged, “Not even the _foggiest_ of ideas?”

The Dragon Witch’s voice sounded odd to Deceit. Urgent. _Pleading._ Almost as much as she wanted King back, she wanted her _name._

Deceit could… almost understand that.

Not that it made her any less horrible. 

— — —

Roman felt uncertainty flash through him as the Dragon Witch stared at him intensely. He took a step back. He felt...weird? 

“I don’t...no? I don’t remember…” Roman shared an uncertain glance with his brother, who looked unbalanced as well.

“Why don’t you just… _try?”_ The Dragon Witch suggested, “What is your _first_ memory?”

The Dragon Witch’s voice felt physically _heavy_ to Roman. Like… a heavy gas had descended on him and his brother. Almost against his will, he thought back to that day.

He remembered… crying. A lot of confusion. He remembered his brother, the first thing he saw, staring at him as he stared back. The confused, “Who are you?”s that had been exchanged at the same time. The miasma and feeling of _wrongness_ and wanting to be _back together,_ but at the same time being put back together sounded _awful_ and yet he could feel the awful _emptiness_ and _loneliness_ with a piece of him _missing._ And then he remembered Patton (Morality? _...Mo?)_ rushing forward, Logan (?) trying to hold the side back and he remembered freezing up and his brother _attacking_ and then his brother was _gone_ and he couldn’t be _whole_ again and he couldn’t be _King_ again—

The Dragon Witch sucked in a sharp breath. Her eyes were glowing. Was that a bad sign? Roman felt like glowing eyes was a pretty bad sign, but to be honest he was _kinda_ feeling out of it and he could distantly hear Deceit banging on the side of his cage and that was pretty worrying—

“Good enough,” the Dragon Witch was saying, and Roman rocked with the words. The weight was back, and Roman’s eyebrows furrowed. He felt like he knew this sensation, but couldn’t really put his finger on it…

_Magic._

Roman stiffened, the fuzziness in his head all but disappearing, _“Oh_ my _gods,_ she’s casting a _spell_ on us! Re, we gotta get _out_ of here!”

That seemed to shock Remus out of his own stupor, _“Shit!”_ He cried, shaking his head, then he flared up at the Dragon Witch, “Hey, buttbrain! Think of — of a _narwhal_ fucking a _horned owl_ in a _swamp!_ Um… think of— of _cum soup!_ Imagine getting a _boner_ at a _funeral!_ Do you remember that story of a guy sticking his _dick_ into a _clam?_ Oh wait, I got a fun one! Imagine what’ll be _left_ of you once I’m finished _shredding_ you into _pieces!”_

The distraction tactic didn’t work, earning only an annoyed glare from the Dragon Witch.

“I can’t _wait_ for you to disappear, along with your _brother.”_ The Dragon Witch spat out, “The _King_ was never so _crude.”_

Remus stamped his foot, “The _‘King’_ isn’t _here,_ Dragon _Bitch!”_ He yelled up at her, “I don’t know if you haven’t been paying attention for the past _two decades,_ but we _aren’t him,_ y’know!”

The Dragon Witch’s multicolored eyes swirled with something menacing, “That’ll change soon.” she said, and her words echoed with the dizzying feeling of more magic. 

Roman shook his head to dispel the vertigo, sharing a look of fear with his brother.

_“What?”_ The both said at the same time, turning back to the Dragon Witch.

The Dragon Witch didn’t respond, only flicking her talon with an insane-sounding giggle.

To Roman’s alarm, he felt the walls of the cage start pressing in on him. He let out a wordless yelp, pressing against the side. Remus cursed, sticking out a leg and pressing his foot to the side of the forcefield as he braced against the walls. His foot brushed Roman’s knee on the way, and Roman grunted as his leg _slammed_ into the wall.

“Hey!” He yelled, “What was _that_ for?”

“I didn’t do _anything!”_ His twin protested, _“You’re_ the one who just _kneed_ the — _oh_ my _gods,_ Roman, we are _sticking_ together!”

_“What?”_ Roman looked down to his leg, where Remus’s boot was stuck. Remus kicked, jostling Roman’s leg painfully.

Roman cried out, _“Hey!_ Stop that! Get _off!”_

“I’m _trying!”_ Remus hissed through gritted teeth, shaking his foot even more.

Roman put his hand on the other side of the shrinking cage, catching a glimpse of the rest of the sides, all pressed to the sides of their cages, faces showing various shades of horror. Roman’s other hand went to the top of the cage as he twisted to avoid making even more contact with his brother, “Don’t touch me!”

“I _said_ I’m _trying!”_ Remus snapped, panic making his voice shrill.

It was a losing battle. Remus, who had sunk to the floor, trying to press his back to the wall while pushing against the other side with his feet, accidentally brushed against Roman’s other leg as he threw his hands out to the sides.

They both yelped, struggling away. Roman automatically tried to pull Remus’s hand away, only to outright _scream_ when his hand sank into his brother’s like hot wax.

“Dragon Witch, _stop this!”_ Roman commanded, trying to shake his hand away, _“S-stop it!_ I — I _can’t—”_

Panic started to flood through Roman’s veins, and his good palm pounded against the ceiling, “I said _stop it!”_ He yelled as a screaming Remus partially melded with his leg, _“Please! I don’t—”_ his eyes caught Virgil’s as his elbow melded with the top of Remus’s head, “Virgil, _help!_ I’m _sorry!_ Please— _please, help!”_ He begged, “Pat, Lo, _please!_ I don’t wanna— I don’t wanna go!”

Remus was pounding on the wall, likewise screaming, _begging_ for someone to help them, to keep them from not being _them,_ to save them from being _lost_ and _obscure_ inside of a form that had split for a _reason._

As the cage shrank down on them, Remus’s arm sank into Roman’s chest as he pulled back his hand to pound the wall again. Roman felt his chin stick to the top of his brother’s head as he was forced down, his face melding with his own arm.

The last thing Roman saw was Patton, Logan, and Virgil, his friends, his _family,_ staring at him with horror and — and _disgust._

And then a blindingly bright light shone from all around him, and he felt his head sink into Remus’s, and everything _hurt_ and he _screamed_ and he could feel himself slipping into the _miasma_ and everything was so _bright_ and then—

— — —

And then King Creativity opened his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)
> 
> Oh, and I forgot to mention this last time, but I have a discord server now! Go check my pinned post in my tumblr (astronomical-bagel) for the link, if you wanna join! It’s supperrrr fun and we talk about Roman a bunch. I also made a couple new fics! Feel free to check em out!


	31. You can reclaim your Crown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: Brotherly Bonding Taken A _Bit_ Too Literally

Everything froze as the King took his first breath in over two decades.

He looked at their—his?— hands. He was _alive._ They were _together._ They — he? — were (?) _whole_ again.

The cage that had been closing on him — _them_ — had stopped, and the King set a hand on it. Two sets of memories filled him with the rage and fear that they had experienced at being caged like an animal about to be sent to slaughter. The King focused, and then snapped the cage away, his other hand falling through.

If Roman had his own mouth to move, it would have dropped in awe at their power — _able to break a barrier spell, just like_ that? 

If Remus could’ve moved his own mouth, it would’ve exploded into a wild grin at their power — _able to break a barrier spell, just like_ that! 

As it was, the King settled for a soft, disbelieving smile.

In front of him, he saw four people. He— they — _knew_ those people. Patton _(Mo?)_ and Logan _(Lo?)_ and Virgil ( _was he the one behind the door?)_ and… and _Deceit_. _(Dee? Snakey? Who even_ knows _anymore?)_

Roman and Remus’s memories and feelings and _opinions_ of those people clashed, and pain lanced through the King’s head. Roman and Remus’s presences sank back, away from each other. 

_Probably best not to share memories,_ Roman thought, voice subdued. Except it wasn’t really a _voice._ Hell, it was hardly a _thought._ It was more of a… a _vibe_ that was sent through the miasma of the King’s mind.

_Yeah, yeah, keep your gross thoughts to yourself and I’ll keep mine,_ Remus thought back, doing the mental version of crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.

The Roman half chose to ignore the “gross” comment.

“Your majesty?” A voice to his left, low and rumbly and decidedly _dragon-like._

The King turned to face the Dragon Witch. She was still laying down, her huge head pressed to the ground as if in her own rendition of a bow. 

Memories — three sets of them, this time — of the Dragon Witch collided in the King’s head. Two of them declared that she was _bad bad bad_ but another memory, a far, _far_ older memory, remembered joyful times, laughter, _names._

“Circe?” The name left the King’s lips, almost unbidden. 

The Dragon Witch let out a soft gasp at her name, and the orange color of her scales rippled in recognition, “Yes?”

The King walked towards her. It was just a couple steps, since her head was on the ground, and he took them leisurely. The King of Creativity didn’t need to rush. He stopped as he got to her muzzle, placing a hand on the warm scales. 

“Why did you do it?” He asked softly, leaning to bump his forehead against her muzzle, closing his eyes as he did so.

The Dragon Witch spoke softly as well, her maw barely moving as she spoke, “Because it was the only way to get you back.”

Roman and Remus’s indignation rose at that. The King took several quick steps back to be able to see her, “The _only_ way? Circe, you _killed Deceit!”_ The King flung out his arm to gesture to the side, “And not only that, but you _tortured_ him just now! And you had _fun!”_

“My mind was _wrong!”_ She growled back, tail lashing, “I can’t _think_ without you here!” Her face brightened, “But—but it’s okay now, Cici! You’re _back!_ And everyone’s _fine,_ now! We — we can _play,_ like we used to!”

Roman and Remus dropped their (his?) arm in shock, considering. They looked down and their hands, clenching them and unchleching them as they processed. The King was _back._ He was _back._ He was _alive._ Circe was _right._ They could— he could play with her again— he had _power! Lots_ of it! He could just—just _wish_ away all the _awful_ things that had happened in the last two decades! Roman and Remus could _stay_ fuzed! It—it wouldn’t be _hard!_ And then everyone—

“...King?” 

_Deceit._

Remus’s attention was immediately riveted to the snakelike side, and Roman let himself be dragged along. The King looked towards Deceit, eyebrows drawn together.

Deceit’s lips were trembling, _bloodied._ From the looks of it, he had pried open his mouth and had _bitten_ himself to break the silencing spell Circe had set on him. His shaking hands were pressed against the forcefield of his cage, the tips on his gloved fingers speckled with red from his mouth.

The King blinked at him. The King’s— the _King’s,_ not Roman or Remus’s— last memory of Deceit _(Lying)_ flitted through his (their?) mind. Pain. A _lot_ of it. Mo had just said that Lie was in a bunch of trouble and that he was sending him away, and then the two halves of Creativity had gotten _upset_ and they had _fought_ and the King had been in _pain_ and then Lying had been sent _away._

The King took a hesitant step forward, “...Snakey?” He remembered—he _remembered_ calling him that.

And then Remus had surged up, wanting the King to _rush_ forward and get Deceit _out_ of his cage _because Deceit hates feeling trapped_ and a strangled cry, sounding much more _Remus-y_ than his earlier words, left his lips, _“Deceit!”_

The King stumbled, Roman not prepared for the sudden surge in Remus’s energy. Roman _yanked_ Remus back, _The Dragon Witch_ —Circe— _said she’d hurt him if you spoke with him! She might do something even_ worse _if we break his cage!_

_But— but I— he’s scared!_ Remus protested, _Circe_ hurt _him!_

_Well, at least he’s not_ dead _again!_ Roman retorted.

Remus immediately released his hold on the King.

The King then looked up and twisted, memories surging in as he looked at the rest of the rest of the sides, “Mo? Lo? And—” the King’s mind stuttered to a stop as he saw the third, spiderlike side. He hesitated. Roman and Remus knew _Virgil._ All the _King_ had known of him was an unresponsive white door in the middle of the wall. 

_“You_ were behind the door.” The King breathed out. _Specifically_ the King. Roman and Remus… they both shank back, unwilling to face the side they had insulted and screamed at not even an hour before.

If Roman and Remus had torsos, they would have felt shame burning in the pit of their stomachs at the remembrance of their fight earlier.

The King smiled, “I’m glad at least _they_ got to know you.”

Virgil’s spider legs spasmed in surprise, and he opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His eight, pure black eyes were leaking tears, and he was pulling at the cuffs of his sleeves, something that Roman and Remus both noted as one of his age-old nervous tics. 

Patton and Logan were likewise staring at them. Morality had his hands covering his mouth, crying silently as he leaned against Lo. (He had basically been doing that nonstop for the past hour or so. Remus had a stray thought that it was good Patton felt so bad—that he _deserved_ it, but then Roman smothered that thought. Patton was going through enough right now, no need to pile on to pile onto his guilt.)

Logic’s eyes were also red, and he stared slack-jawed at the King, clutching onto Mo’s arm in a rare sign of emotional turmoil.

The King stepped towards them, because he realized how much he _missed_ them, even if Roman and Remus had _just_ seen them, talked with them, the _King_ hadn’t, and he _really, really_ missed his friends.

The King heard a grumbling to his left again, “Why are you paying attention to _them?”_ As the King turned, Circe rose from her lying position to a crouch, smoke leaking out her nostrils as she growled, “I said that everyone was _fine!”_ She stamped a foot, and the King saw everyone flinch, Virgil wrapping his spider legs protectively around Patton and Logan, “You don’t have to _worry_ about them, Cici! Come _on!_ I want to _play!”_

The King scrunched up his face in incredulity, and he looked back to his friends. He looked at the blood on Deceit’s cracked lips, and he looked at the tear stains on Patton’s face, the fear in Virgil’s eight eyes, the tremble in Logan’s hands.

_“...Fine?”_ The King turned back to Circe, “You call this _fine?”_ He gestured towards the sides, “Circe, do you really think that all of us won’t, oh I don’t _know,_ have _lasting trauma_ because of this? Do you _really_ think that I’m willing to _play_ with you?”

Circe growled, the smoke now pouring out her nostrils, “I brought you back to _life!”_

Remus summoned his morningstar in their right hand as the King yelled back at Circe, “You _killed Deceit!”_

Circe lashed her tail, “He’s just a _side character!”_ She snapped, _“You’re_ the _important_ one! You’re the _King!_ Just — stop _wasting_ your time and go on a quest or something! You’re _alive!_ Go out and _live!”_

_Important one?_ Roman and Remus repeated to themselves. They considered this for a second, “Okay, so if you think I’m so _important,_ let Deceit go.”

Circe let out a wordless roar, rising to her full height. Twenty, nay, _fifty,_ nay, a _thousand_ feet tall. (Okay, so it was closer to fifty—or thirty. Spacial recognition is hard, okay?)

The King stepped back, craning his neck to see Circe as fear flashed through him. He knew that he’d be able to defeat her easily—by stabbing her spleen and maybe ripping off all her scales one by one— but if she decided to attack one of the _others…_

“Oh, I can let him go!” Circe snarled, “I can let him _go!_ You want to see me let him let him go? Well, let’s see how our dear ‘Snakey’ likes _this!”_

Circe raised her huge talons—as big as the King himself—and snapped them.

The King twisted around with his heart in his throat, fully expecting Deceit’s head to be blown off his shoulders, but all they saw was the snakelike side stumbling back against the wall of his cage.

The King turned back to Circe, Remus’s grip on his morningstar tightening, “What did you _do?”_

Circe only laughed, and the King growled, taking a step forward.

Only to stop when he heard Deceit whimper.

— — —

No.

No no no no no no _no._

He was— _no!_ He couldn’t — he _couldn’t_ —

“Snakey!” The King — the _King_ — ran up to his cage, dropping Remus’s morningstar, and Deceit realized he had been talking out loud, “What’s wrong? What did she _do?”_

Deceit held up his hands in front of him. They shook, they shook so badly that he had to set them back down again. 

“Deceit?” The King spoke again, and his voice...well, his voice sounded like Remus.

Deceit felt tears flood into his eyes as he looked at the King, now just a red-green-brown blur. He could hear the numbness in his own voice, “She’s sending me back, Remus. She—” Deceit broke off, a full-body tremble running through him.

“She’s _wha_ —” The King started, sounding like Roman, but the Remus voice cut him off, sounding horrified, “No. _No. Gods,_ no.”

Deceit could feel himself fading. _Lying could feel himself fading._

“No,’ Lying — _Deceit_ — whimpered as the edges of his vision started darkening. He took a step towards the King, “King—Remus—Roman, _help me.”_ He begged, “I can’t go back. Don’t—please don’t let me go back. I _can’t—”_

_“We need to talk.” Morality had said._

“Deceit!” Virgil called, “What’s happening? What did she do?”

Deceit glanced in the direction of the other cage. The sides trapped inside were plastered to the wall of the forcefield. Lying took a step back and shook his head. He couldn’t— he _couldn’t._ He couldn’t face them—couldn’t face the possibility that maybe he had been wr— _No!_ The Light Sides were _against_ him! He couldn’t—couldn’t fall for their _lies._

“Deceit.” The King’s voice was a perfect blend this time. He talked in the glass, _“Snakey._ I’m going to get you out, okay?” His voice switched to something more Remus-y, words shaky, “I am _not_ going to lose you again.” His voice blended back again, “Just—just look at me, okay? I’m going to break the cage.”

The King set his hand on the forcefield, closing his eyes in a look of concentration.

Deceit set his hand on the other side of the King’s and leaned on the glass, barely allowing himself to hope, just _trying_ not to teeter off the edge into panic again because that made it go even _faster_ and Deceit _couldn’t go back._

Nothing happened.

_Nothing happened._

_“We’ve decided that you need a really,_ really _long time-out.”_

“Wh-what?” The King looked down at his hands, “But I—”

“You can’t unlock a door if you’re on the _wrong side.”_ The Dragon Witch’s called from where she lay, sounding bored.

“I can’t—” the King’s eyes widened, his multicolored pupils sparking with the realization, then he shook his head, _“No._ There’s another way. There _has_ to be. I’ll just—I’ll just _force_ my way through!”

And the King grabbed Remus’s morningstar from the ground next to him and hefted it up, _slamm_ ing it into the forcefield. 

Deceit flinched back at seeing the weapon hurtling towards him—if the forcefield broke, it’d hit _him—_ but it wasn’t needed. The morningstar ricocheted off, throwing the King stumbling back, and he fell to the ground with a dull _thud._

The King climbed back to his feet, growling. He dropped Remus’s morningstar and held out his hands, summoning what looked to be a ball of bright energy. With some hesitation as he looked at it in surprise, he flung it at the forcefield.

It fizzled out harmlessly against the side of the cage.

“That’s going to work out either, _your highness.”_ The Dragon Witch drawled. 

_“No—stop—_ please.” _The King had begged._

Deceit’s clenched fingers felt like static.

“No!” The King punched the cage, “I’m not—I’m not going to _lose_ you again! Not after I _just_ got you back! Not after I just got _me_ back!”

Deceit could only stare at the King, hands twisting in his capulet, his mind stuttering because he could _feel_ the Subconscious on his _skin._

_“Please, don’t leave me alone! I_ won’t _do anything! Just please, get me_ out _of here!”_

“Deceit?” A horrified voice. _Morality._

Deceit turned, his mind slipping out of that _numb_ state, _“Mo.”_ he gasped.

_Morality squeezed his arm, “You’re not—you’re not welcome here anymore.”_

Morality had put him _in._ Morality could take him _out._ He could stop him from _going_ _in._

“Mo!” Deceit stumbled towards him in the realization, “Patton! You can stop it, right? You can stop me from going in?”

His elbows started pricking with pins and needles.

Patton drew back a bit, “I…”

“Please!” Deceit begged, “I won't be bad! I— _please—_ I won’t even _lie_ anymore! I can—I can still be _Dee,_ if you want! _Please,_ just help me! I—I’ll do _anything!”_

The static had reached his shoulders.

_He could feel the claws he could_ feel the claws

Patton stared at him, “I don’t—I _can’t._ I—I’m sorry, there’s no way—”

_“Please!”_ Deceit could feel the static— _Lying could feel the static_ and he could _see the blackness_ in the corners of his vision and he was going _back_ and he was _terrified._

“Snakey!” The King’s form was wobbling dangerously as he pounded his fists against the cage. He was crying— _everyone_ was crying— and King was apologizing—what was he apologizing for?—And Lying could see the black in the corners of his vision and he would see Virgil, and Deceit twisted to look for _Remus_ but only found the _King_ and everything was _loud_ and the static was _loud_ and then—

And then Deceit was alone.

_“You’ve done too much to be forgiven.”_

— — —

The King dropped to his knees, staring at the after image of Deceit burned into his eyes. Hunched over, crying, _terrified._

Deceit was gone. 

_Again._

And it was his— _their?—_ fault.

_Again._

The King's form wobbled dangerously as Roman and Remus stuttered out of sync. Remus stared in shock at the empty spot where Deceit should have been, and Roman wanted to attack the Dragon Witch, to defend what was left of their group.

Pain lanced through the King’s head, and he put a hand to his temple.

_“No!”_ He growled to himself, “We have to stay _together!”_

The King shook himself, then stood up and whirled around, tears blurred his vision, and he picked up Remus’s morningstar, hefting it up, “I’m going to fucking _kill_ you.” He growled.

Circe growled back, “He _deserved_ it.”

Remus flared up in pure rage, but Roman kept him in check, lest he go and split them.

_We have to keep our head, Ree,_ Roman said, _the King is the only one who can_ really _kill her._

Remus pulled back, but a murderous rage still flooded through, making the King tighten his grip on Remus’s morningstar.

Circe seemed to make the draconian version of a pout, _“Cici,_ stop being _mean!_ I wanna _play!”_

The King hesitated, _Well,_ that _was a mood swing, doncha’ think?_

The King studied the Dragon Witch, remembering what she had said earlier. Something about how she can’t think right when they were split. Why? Were they connected somehow?

The King shook his head and growled. He didn’t have _time_ for this. He had to _kill_ Circe and then go _save Deceit!_

Roman summoned his sword, and the King declared, “You’re not going to _live_ long enough to play any more of your _games.”_

Now with a weapon in each hand, the King started forward. But… both of his weapons required two hands.

_I don’t think we planned this out very well._ Roman commented dryly.

But something _clicked_ inside the King when he looked at Roman and Remus’s weapons. If his two halves had combined, why couldn’t their sword and morningstar do the same?

So, hardly knowing what he was doing, the King brought his hands together. As he was doing so, he caught part of his reflection in the shiny metal of Roman’s sword. His eyes were kaleidoscopes of colors. The King started, looking up at Circe, then back down at his reflection. Their eyes were the _same._

Blinking and getting back to his task, the King _slamm_ ed his two weapons together with a great _clang._

Immediately, he doubled over as pain lanced through his head. He distantly heard the other sides’ shouts of alarm, but his attention was more drawn to Circe’s bark of pain. A _ha,_ so they _were_ connected!

The pain was gone in only a second, and the King stood up, clutching his new... _halberd?_ They got a _halberd?_ It was tall, around his height, and had a tall spike at the end, along with a shiny axehead.

The King huffed at his weapon. _Whatever._ It’d have to do. It kinda fit, he supposed. Maybe? He didn’t really see the similarities.

Getting into a fighting stance, the King glared at Circe, “You’re going _down.”_

Circe laughed. It was a villain’s laugh, loud and piercing, _“Finally!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happened in this chapter, you ask?? I have absolutely no fuckin idea.


	32. A thrilling chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what the title is.

The ground beneath Deceit’s knees became cold and hard, and he fell forward, the cage he had been leaning on disappearing.

Deceit’s gloves padded his fall, but that small comfort didn’t change the fact that _he was in the Subconscious._

Deceit’s _entire world_ had just crashed down around him. He was in the Subconscious. _He was in the motherfucking_ Subconscious.

_“Please, Mo! Please—just let me_ out! _Please, I_ can _do this! I—”_

A sob wrenched itself from Deceit’s throat, “God- _fucking-_ dammit!” he screamed, one fist pounding on the rough ground, “After _all_ this _fucking_ time, I get put here _anyway?_ After _all_ I did? After _all_ that—” Deceit’s voice broke, and he let out another sob, his tears _oh-so cold cold cold_ against his cheeks.

“I worked so _hard!”_ Deceit screeched into the endless void, “I’ve _wasted_ my _power_ to avoid this! I had to fucking _kiss_ Remus to keep him from knowing! I _can’t—”_ Deceit’s voice broke again, “I can’t _be_ here! This can’t be _happening!”_

Deceit sat up, his fingers digging into his arms as he hugged himself, “After all this time...I can’t ever escape, can I?” the tears on Deceit’s face were cold cold cold, “It consumed my entire _self,_ my every _move,_ while I was awake, I couldn’t even escape in my _sleep,_ and now—” his voice cracked, “And now I’m _back_ again?”

Deceit sat back to bring his knees towards his chest, wrapping his arms around them.

“What am I going to do _now?”_ Deceit whimpered, setting his tearstained, scaly cheek on his knees.

Behind him, a low growl sounded.

Deceit’s stomach dropped.

— — —

The King charged at Circe, a war cry exploding from his lungs. Circe grinned ferally, and got into a fighting stance, beating her impossibly large wings.

The King darted under her belly, reaching up with his halberd, attempting to slice her belly, but their grip was wrong, and the halberd skidded uselessly against her scales.

Circe giggled and pranced away, making the King dodge her ginormous talons, “You’re gonna have to do better than _that,_ your highness! You’ve gotten _rusty!”_

Roman and Remus growled, and Remus shoved his way into control, _You’re doing it_ wrong, _Sir_ Sloppy! _Let the expert in_ destruction _have the wheel!_

Roman mentally sighed and rolled his eyes, but drew back. Remus went for Circe’s hind heel, dashing forward and slamming the side of the halberd into the tendon. It bounced off awkwardly, and Circe snickered.

_“Wow,_ Cici, don’t tell me you’ve _forgotten_ how to _fight?”_ What happened to the ‘great and mighty warrior?’”

The King’s cheeks burned, and Roman wrestled the control away from Remus, _Idiot! This isn’t your barbaric_ morningstar! _It’s a refined weapon! Treat her with the respect she deserves!_

Remus scoffed, _Uh,_ refined? _Halberds were given to_ foot soldiers, _Prince Prissy!_

_Uhh, check your facts, Weaseltown!_ We’re _using it, so maybe it’s_ not _just foot soldiers, how about_ that? Roman mentally made a face at Remus—just sorta sent that _vibe_ to him— and he could feel Remus sneer at him in return.

Virgil’s voice reached their ears, distorted and terrified, _“Roman! Remus! Watch out!”_

The King jolted back to attention and ducked out of the way, just in time to avoid a tail swipe from Circe.

“Sorry, I’ll have to put this conversation on hold!” The King shouted to himself, Roman adjusting their grip on the weapon, “Can’t be _lip flappin’—”_ Remus took over and shouted the next part gleefully, “—when we have some _neck snappin’_ to do!”

With Roman in control of the arms, the King dashed forward again, running for Circe’s belly again. It was Roman’s most faithful tactic so far, and certainly hadn’t let him down yet!

But the Circe, expecting this, nimbly leapt into the air, butting those wings of hers to use. The King stumbled to a halt, conferring with himself for a second.

_Invisible stairs, or wings?_ Roman asked.

Remus snorted, _Do you really think we can handle_ another _set of limbs right now? We can barely walk in a straight line!_ Stairs, _ya dolt!_

_Yeesh, you don’t have to be_ rude _about it._ Roman grumbled, but the King started forward, running about twenty feet up into the sky. He could hear Virgil cursing below them, and Patton and Logan’s calls to be careful and for the love of Thomas do _not_ fall and that they _swore_ if he did they’d _kill him themselves._

The King chuckled at their concern, getting into a fighting stance, _I’ll do the fighting, you make sure we don’t fall, got it?_ Roman told Remus.

Remus grumbled, but did as he was told anyways. The King charged, running up another thirty feet for Circe’s head. Circe cackled, and the King saw the telltale glow of fire in the back of her throat just in time. They dodged, rolling out of the way as Circe shot a stream of fire at them, then popping up again and running up the invisible stairs again. Circe dodged the King, but he leapt onto her head, holding on for dear life as she tried to shake him off.

Roman, with the King’s right arm wrapped around one of Circe’s head spikes, held the halberd high in one hand and prepared to stab it into the dragon’s head, like a valiant hero.

But, of _course, Remus_ got in the way.

_Hey!_ Remus mentally glared at Roman, _You’re doing it_ wrong! _We have to_ bash _it into her_ skull!

Remus sent a mental image of a _barbaric_ fighter, swinging a spiked bat over his head, with blood and gore splattered absolutely _everywhere_.

Roman gasped, his immaterial hands fluttering to his imaginary chest, _That is_ beastly!

_I know!_ Remus cheered happily, _Isn’t it_ great?

_No! Absolutely not!_ Roman spluttered, _That is_ undignified _and_ awful!

Remus huffed and rolled his eyes, _It isn’t_ awful, _and_ _I’ll_ show _you!_

With that, he _yank_ ed away the control from Roman, causing the King to spasm. They slipped with a yelp, and he heard the other sides’ shouts of alarm.

“Good job, _Remus.”_ Roman, via the King, snarked in midair, the wind rushing around him. The King let go of his halberd and twisted in the air, willing a platform to appear below him. He landed on his feet, but it was jarring, and he stumbled.

_“I’m going to fucking_ murder _you if you get yourself killed, ya hear me, royal buttface? Don’t you_ dare _fall again!”_ Virgil screeched up at the King.

The King looked over his shoulder to shoot the spiderlike side a glare, _“Sorry_ for trying to save your _asses,_ then!” He shouted.

_Royal buttface?_ Roman grumbled, _That’s not even_ creative... 

Circe, annoyed by having the King on her head and angered at the lack of attention, flared her wings and roared. Magic laced her voice, amplifying it and making the King skid back on his invisible platform.

The King held up his arms in an _x_ position over his face, bracing himself. After the wind rushing in his ears faded, he dropped his arms and stared up at the Dragon Witch in apprehension and a vague dread. Together, Roman and Remus power was _exponential,_ but it seemed that had passed over to _Circe_ as well.

This was going to be harder than they thought.

— — —

Deceit scrambled to his feet, whipping around, his one useful eye searching in the darkness for any telltale glowing red. 

(For once, he was _exceedingly_ grateful for his snake eye. Without it and its heat sensor, he would be _more_ than fucked)

Deceit’s heartbeat _hammered_ in his throat, but he couldn’t _afford_ to have a panic attack because if he _did—_

~~Pain spilled a fiery red onto the ground.~~

Deceit wouldn’t—he _couldn’t_ let that happen again.

Another growl, somewhere to the left of him. Deceit twisted towards the sound, snake eye searching— _what if was one of the ones with carapaces, he wouldn’t be able to see it—_

~~The Nightmare was toying with him, feeding off his fear, hurting him only to make him keep running.~~

Deceit trembled, backing up as he could see the barest trace of warmth in front of him—the monster’s breath. As the realization hit— _it was_ here, _it was going to_ attack, _he had to_ run— Deceit felt fresh tears rise up into his eyes, and he felt his already quick breathing speed up— _after all this time, he was_ back, _he couldn’t escape, it was going to keep_ chasing him—

Before he even registered the impulse, Deceit was running. He was sprinting, _scrambling_ across the uneven landscape. He felt his aching muscles and fuzzy head immediately protest, but it wasn’t even an _option_ to stop. Because the Nightmare was _chasing_ him. He could _hear_ the Nightmare.

~~Lying sobbed wordlessly, his tears so, so cold on his cheeks. A gash on his arm bled freely, the pain white-hot-hot- _cold_ and it _hurt_ but _he_ _couldn’t stop running._~~

_Clack clack clack clakccalck ckalckclaoclackclak_

The Nightmare was speeding up. Pure panic flooded through Deceit’s veins, and he widened his pace, only to let out a sudden, piercing scream when his foot slid down a sudden slope— _no no no no—_

Deceit landed in a heap at the bottom of the slope, about six feet lower from where he had been. He immediately forced himself to his feet, scrambling forward, only to be met with an almost vertical wall— _no no no no nonononono—_ Deceit scrabbled ya the surface— _gotta_ hide _gotta get away—_ his nails caught at the rocks from underneath his gloves— _there’s gotta be somewhere to hide here there’s_ gotta _be—_

After a few eternal, terrifying seconds, Deceit’s gloved hands found a small nook, a curved indent in the wall about what seemed to be a little less than four feet tall. 

Without hesitating, Deceit dove inside, pressing himself into the back of the shallow crevice. He brought his knees to his chest, curling up so nothing would peek out, and pressed his hands to his mouth, stifling his frantic breathing.

_Clackclackcalckcclakc clakcla clack clack c l a ck_

The Nightmare paused at the lip of the dip, it’s breath fogging out orange and fading into a cool blue. Deceit squinted his snake eye, and was barely able to make out hints of color; the hints of a cool teal which here probably chinks in the beast’s carapace, the barely-noticeable orange of the thing’s eyes, the dripping blue so dark it was almost black coming from what could only be its grotesque mouth.

It seemed to balk at the steep slope, small, almost distressed _click_ ing noises emanating from it. Deceit bit his tongue to keep himself from making any noise, _Please go away,_ please _go away,_ he silently begged, _I can’t go_ _through the torture again._

The Nightmare made some more clicking noises, and some growly ones too, and Deceit held back a shiver. His head throbbed in time to his pulse, reminding him of his trembling and sore limbs and stuffy nose. 

A wave of hopelessness settled on Deceit as he waited for the Nightmare to leave, and he bit back a sob.

Was this just going to be his life, now?

— — —

The King held out his hand, summoning the halberd once more, “So I guess we’re doing this the _hard_ way, then.”

_Pfft, the_ hard _way,_ Remus snickered.

_Oh for the love of all the gods, shut_ up, _Remus!_ Roman groaned.

Circe’s eyes glittered, but she didn’t speak, her throat glowing an angry red-orange.

The King made a _yikes_ face, and threw himself out of the way before he could get turned into a Charbroiled Royal (okay, yeah, that wasn’t his best). The fireball turned the air around them uncomfortably warm as he rolled on the invisible platform.

_Arrgh, we haven’t been able to land a single hit, Remus!_ Roman complained, _This isn’t_ working!

_Well,_ you’re _the one who wanted to be in control of the weapon, brother dear!_ Remus’s voice was mocking, _Perhaps_ I _should take the wheel?_

_You’ve been_ taking _the wheel!_ Roman snapped, tone frustrated as the King summoned his halberd again, scowling, _And you’ve been_ messing _me up!_

_Then stop doing it_ wrong! Remus retorted.

I’m _the one who’s doing this wrong?_ Roman demanded, I’m _not the one who wants to act like a half-naked_ barbarian!

_I don’t want to go as a_ half-naked _barbarian!_ Remus returned, pausing to (mentally) stare affrontedly at Roman, then resumed to his normal (figurative) pose, _I want to go as a_ fully- _naked barbarian!_

_But we have to be a brave_ knight! Roman insisted, frustration dripping from his tone.

The King started to head off in one direction, but stopped himself, tripping a bit, and wheeled around to run towards the Dragon Witch’s other side.

_Remus, I swear by the hazel hair of Hera’s_ heir _—_ Roman started.

Remus interrupted, _The heart is on her_ left _side Roman, if we’re gonna plunge the weapon into her heart—_

_The weapon has an_ axehead _on it! We can’t plunge it into her_ heart! 

_You can plunge_ anything _into a heart if you’re determined enough!_ Remus declared matter-of-factly.

_I might scream._ Roman said almost calmly. If he had an eye of his own, it would have been twitching, and if he had physical hands, they would’ve been raking through his hair in annoyance.

_Oh, please do!_ Remus returned as the King dodged a swipe from Circe, acting on autopilot, _Scream_ so _hard that you lose your voice! I could go without hearing you for a while!_

Roman growled, _Remus, we’re supposed to be working as a team—_

_—and_ that’s _working out about as well as Thomas at the gym!_ Remus interjected.

_Thomas is doing well enough!_ Roman defended his host as the King tried to hack at one of Circe’s tendons.

_Can he break someone’s ribs just by hugging them?_ Remus questioned.

_Um, I don’t think—_

_Then he’s not working out enough!_ Remus concluded.

_Remus, I swear to the high heavens of Olympus that if we get off track_ one more time—

_“Watch out!”_

The King snapped out of his arguing with a jolt, and turned just in time to see a scaly tail hurtling towards him.

— — —

The Nightmare had left, shuffling and clicking away after it decided it wanted to be closer to wherever its territory was. Deceit had moved on too, stumbling his way out of the little crevice he had slid into.

Because one did not stay still in the Subconscious. _No one_ did. It was like they were all sharks; once they stopped moving, it’d be because they were dead.

Deceit didn’t know whether it was because staying still would draw other, bigger, stronger things towards you, or if it was because sitting and doing nothing in the pitch-blackness would just make you go off the deep end. All he knew was that, even as a kid, his instincts always kept him moving. Only hour-long naps, at the most, to suffice as a proper sleeping schedule, and never stopping, just walking, walking, and more walking.

Even the _ground_ seemed to never want to stop moving, shifting and changing like a two dimensional Labyrinth, like from the legends. You could walk in circles for hours and the landscape would be different on each lap. The Nightmares seemed to have a sort of _instinct_ on where their territory was, perhaps a scent that even _Deceit’s_ refined pallet couldn’t discern. He could be walking into a Nightmare’s clutches _right now_ and not even _notice._

The thought made a sort of raw, feral fear squirm in his gut, and Deceit had to stop himself from speeding up. He had to conserve his energy, in case he had to run again. (Oh, who was he kidding? _When_ he had to run again.)

God, if only it wasn’t so damn _cold._

Deceit pulled his capulet tighter around him, grateful the Dragon Witch—Circe, her name was?— had given him his old clothes back. At least he had _one_ ounce of comfort in this damn hellscape.

Deceit remembered one time, about a couple… weeks? _Months?_ A _while_ after he first was trapped in the Subconscious, he’d lost a bit of his shirt from a particularly vicious Nightmare. (He still had the scars, physical _and_ mental. His shoulder blade burned with a sort of itchy pain) 

He remembered how the loss of that little scrap of fabric had affected the rest of his time in this wretched prison. Shuddering, chilled hours meant for resting spent awake because the cold was somehow _sharp_ and his half-reptilian anatomy was _screaming_ at him to _get warm, get warm_ before it was too late and he froze entirely. 

Deceit shivered.

— — —

Roman—no, Remus— uh, _they_ sat up, blinking blearily. What happened? And why did he feel like he had just been bodyslammed by a pro wrestler wearing lead instead of armor?

They winced, rubbing their head. That wasn’t the _best_ analogy ever… 

They paused, looking down at their hand, then at their outfit. 

Wait, _what?_ They didn’t wear _grey,_ they wore ~~red~~ ~~green~~!

The King winced again as the memories came flooding back to them. _Oh. Yeah._ They’d _fused,_ and then…

The King’s head shot up, _Oh by the barbecued tits of Apollo, Circe’s gonna go after_ them!

Sure enough, the multicolored dragon had landed, and was now crouching in front of the three remaining sides, smoke leaking out her nostrils and her tail lashing.

The King had been flung quite a ways off by Circe’s tail; she and the rest of the sides were about twenty yards off, the King just barely able to hear the rumbling growl in Circe’s chest.

The King pushed himself up and stumbled forward, the world spinning as Roman whispered in horror in their head, _She’s going to_ kill _them, Remus. Look at her._

Circe was now gesturing wildly, and the King was just barely able to hear the rise and fall of her voice, going on more and more animatedly about villains and roles and presentation or whatever, and how she was going to make their deaths _“thrilling”._

_I bet_ that’s _what she said to_ Deceit, Remus growled, his immaterial hands clenching angrily.

The small form of Virgil had spread his spider legs around Patton and Logan protectively, and the King could just barely hear his snarling at the Dragon Witch, and Circe responded in kind, with a snapping growl that made the three sides flinch back.

_We have to_ save _them._ The King thought to himself.

The King took off at a swift pace, but his balance was off, and the world tilted again. They paused and held a hand to their aching head, “What the fuck were we even _doing?”_ They muttered angrily to themselves, and then Remus’s voice split off, and only Roman spoke through the King, “God, if we weren’t so focused on how we _looked_ while killing her— we should have worked _together.”_

Remus cut in guiltily, “I shouldn’t have distracted you when we were on her head—we could have killed her _then._ We should've just _killed_ her and then _saved Deceit.”_

The King cried out as a blinding pain seemed to split his head open, and he clutched it as if to keep himself in one piece—which was actually _exactly_ what he was doing.

_“Fuck,_ we have to stay _together.”_ The King muttered, _“We’re_ the only one who can _kill_ her.”

“But we’re _unstable!”_ He shot back at himself, “We _can’t—”_

“Then we just become _more_ stable!” The King growled, determination in his set jaw, “Because Circe is about to _hurt_ them and she’s _already_ hurt Deceit! We _can’t_ let them get even _more_ hurt by _our_ creation!”

Circe’s haunches had raised as she monologued with a fiery passion at the sides, her flaps by her ears fanning out, and the King could hear her booming voice, “…are the very _reason_ that the King was _split!”_

“C’mon…” the King muttered to himself as the very lines of his existence wobbled and trembled, “we have to stay _together!_ Get in _sync!”_

“Why, _Morality,_ you even sent dear _Deceit_ — _and_ Greenie— to the _Subconscious!”_ Circe’s talons fluttered to her chest in mock dismay, “And did you ever check to see if they were _alright?_ Have you ever wondered how they _escaped?”_

If they let them get hurt… if Circe decided to _do_ something to the sides, kill them like she did to Deceit, or send them somewhere that they would probably never be able to _find_ them again… both Roman and Remus felt a flash of fear in their immaterial stomachs.

These sides were Roman’s _family._ They’d been with him—at least, Patton and Logan— for his entire _life._ They couldn’t—Roman couldn’t let them get hurt. 

Even _Remus_ didn’t think he could stand to see their blood dripping from Circe’s claws, splattered on the ground and looking around their bodies. Because for Remus, when he stabbed them, or broke their necks, or whatever he felt like doing, none of it was _permanent._ But Circe… Circe would _kill_ them. Or—or _whatever_ she had done to Deceit, erasing them for _months_ on end.

And both Roman and Remus didn’t think they could stand to be alone for that long.

“I think…” Circe drawled, and the King pressed the sides of his head harder.

_“C’mon,”_ he urged himself, “we have to _protect_ them!”

“...that maybe it’s time that I returned the favor for them!” Circe finished cheerily, and she raised her huge talons to snap—

And time seemed to slow to a stop.

The pain in the King’s head flared into an almost unbearable pain as the turmoil and fear inside of Roman and Remus reached a peak, and then, as quick as a flash, it was gone.

The King looked up with a determined glare, a fire alight in his eyes, _“No!”_

The party in front of him all turned their heads in surprise, startled.

“You are _not—”_ Roman and Remus shouted as one, and the King summoned their halberd in his left hand, the spike pointed down and out. 

The King seemed to glitch, suddenly, and then he was up twenty, thirty feet in the air, right above the Dragon Witch, halberd raised high above his head, “—going to to _hurt—”_

Circe’s head swiveled to look at him, shock—and _fear_ — in her wide eyes. She gaped up at him for one frozen second, her jaw open in surprise.

And then the King swung his halberd down as he fell, finishing his sentence, “—my _family!”_

And Roman and Remus _slammed_ their halberd right between Circe’s eyes, sinking it in, _deep._ Circe stiffened.

Everything was silent, the King’s harsh breathing being the only sound.

Circe made a choked noise in the back of her throat, “I—” 

She stumbled, and the King held on to one of her huge horns, leaving his halberd buried in her head. Perhaps killing her as he was standing on her head wasn’t the _best_ idea…

Circe was trembling, “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she mumbled, “We were supposed to—to _play.”_

She keeled over slightly, slumping forward as if in a bow, and the King let himself slide off her head, catching himself with an invisible platform and stepping quietly onto the rocky floor. He stepped forward and placed a hand onto her lowered head, right by her eye crest, “Life isn’t a game.” he told her quietly, “You crossed the line when you decided to hurt the ones I cared about.”

Circe’s eye —it was multicolored again— flicked to look behind the King, “‘s Mo— _Morality’s_ fault that you—you’re _gone.”_ She slurred.

_“He_ didn’t force me to split.” The King corrected, “I split because Thomas was growing up, and didn’t associate some parts of his Creativity with the others.” The King clenched and unclenched his free hand, staring at it as he spoke lowly, “...And when you grow up, you have to learn to let some things go.” 

The King looked up again, “You have to let me _go,_ Circe. I’m not meant to _be_ here. Roman and Remus— _they_ are what’s left, and they don’t _fit_ together, not anymore. What you see—” the King gestured to himself, “—isn’t the ‘Cici’ you were hoping for. I’m just an _approximation._ Roman and Remus are their _own_ people now, too rounded and _complete_ to stay like this for long.”

“But—” Circe’s eye was wet, drowning in unshed tears, “but I _missed_ you.”

“That _doesn’t_ give you permission to _hurt_ others.” The King returned sharply.

Circe took in a shaky breath, “I’m scared, Cici.” She confessed.

The King rubbed her eyeridge comfortingly, “It’s time to let go.” He said simply.

Circe let out a deep, shuddering breath, her multicolored eye sliding shut, a tear slipping out as she did so. The King turned as her forehead, where the halberd was still buried, began to glow, blindingly bright yet impossibly dark at the same time. It shone brighter and brighter and darker and darker until the King had to turn away, if only not to fry his brain by the pure paradox.

And then the scales beneath his hand disappeared, and the only sound was the twin sounds of metal clanging to the floor. Their halberd, and… a _crown?_

  
The King stared at it, before scoffing in disbelief, “So the big boss has good drops!” the King chuckled to himself, probably bit hysterical. ( _Definitely_ hysterical.)

He stepped forward, picking up their halberd, and after a moment of staring at the crown, all that was left of the Circe, and then kicked it, sending it skidding across the stones. He called out, “Yeah, and _stay_ dead, Dragon _Biatch!”_

The King wheeled around after that, grinning brightly at his friends. Patton and Logan had both stepped towards him, but Virgil stayed on the ground, staring at them. The King stepped forward, ready to wrap them all up in a victory hug, the buzz of victory and the sweetness of relief flooding through his body. He began to open his arms wide—

_Aaaand_ promptly collapsed onto the stone floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He’s fine he’s fine I swear he’s not dead 
> 
> Eyyyyy, wof fans, how’d you like that _thrilling_ reference with Circe?


	33. ahaha oh dear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaaaaaa don’t question the title shhhh

_The Dragon Witch towered above Deceit, her multicolored eyes glowing with pure malice. Deceit couldn’t move, couldn’t breath, couldn’t do_ anything _as Roman and Remus screeched in terror and pain, and they were dying, dying, dyi—_

“You.” _A voice rang out,_ “You’re _doing this.”_

_Deceit twisted to the right, “No—” he protested,_ “ _I_ swear, _please, I — I_ can’t—”

_But_ _it was too late. The Dragon Witch in front of him morphed into a crablike creature, with wicked mandibles and razor-sharp limbs that reared up to_ stab—

_And then the crustacean’s limbs changed into something thicker, hairier. Black and dark, with just the barest hints of silver._

“Why?” _Virgil demanded, his eight black eyes leaking tears, making his eyeshadow run down his face, “For so long…did you just want to make us suffer? Did you_ enjoy _it? Was_ that _why? I don’t—” Virgil’s voice broke, “I don’t under_ stand.”

_Deceit took a step back as Patton appeared to his left. His glasses were cracked and foggy, tears and snot leaking down his face, “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “please, please don’t hurt me— I’m sorry, I was just a_ kid, _I—”_

_Deceit felt something catch in his chest, and he took another step back, “What? I’m not going to— I wouldn’t hurt you! I’m not a—”_

_“On the contrary,” Logan said to his right, adjusting his glasses, “your actions_ do _align with those of a villain— after all, lying_ is _your base function.” He shrugged, “It’s in your nature.”_

_“No!” Deceit snapped back, hands clenched, “I’m_ not _a villain! I_ protect _Thomas!”_

_“Not lately, it seems,” Virgil sneered, “you seem more interested in protecting_ yourself.”

_Deceit’s breath hitched, and he took yet another step back, “But I..._ ” _he was cut off as his back hit someone’s chest, he twisted around, to see the King standing there, his metallic sash shining both red and green._

_“King,” Deceit breathed out softly, and before he knew it, he dove forward to hug him._

_But Deceit fell through, and he fell down, down, down. Deceit’s stomach seemed to get left behind as he fell, giving him such vertigo that he couldn’t even scream._

_The blackness seemed to swallow him up like a monster to its prey._

_—_

_“No, no,_ Deceit.” _A voice sobbed out._ Remus. _He was crying,_ “ _Please,_ please _wake up. C’mon, DeeDee, I can’t_ do _this without you. Please, I—”_

_Deceit blinked his eyes open, rasping out,_ “Remus?”

_Remus gasped as he realized Deceit was awake, and Deceit’s eyes filled with tears as Remus’s fingers brushed the scales on his cheek, “I missed you so_ much,” _he whispered hoarsely._

_Deceit grasped Remus’s hand, too numb to actually feel anything, “You’re…._ here?”

_Remus nodded tearily, “I’m here,”_ _he confirmed, “I’m…”_

_And then Remus was gone._

— — —

Deceit woke up with a gasp, sitting up and reaching out, “No, _wait,_ come _back!”_

His hand only met thin air.

Deceit slumped, falling back into the half curled-up position he had been in. The cold stung the side of his face where his tears had leaked into his hair, and he wiped his running nose. 

Deceit covered his face with his gloved hands, choking back a sob as he realized once again that he was _alone,_ that there was _no way_ that anyone would or _could_ save him.

How long had he been in here, anyways? He’d ran away from a Nightmare, walked for what must have been _hours,_ and then fell asleep on one of his breaks. Judging from how hungry he was, it _must_ have been at _least_ a day, right? Though, he’d thrown everything up earlier, so maybe that wasn’t the best judgment?

At the thought of food, Deceit’s stomach growled, and Deceit cursed. _Fuck,_ now he wouldn’t even be able to _eat_ anymore, which meant he would be shaky and weak and that meant it was more likely for him to get caught by a Nightmare.

But, he had survived when he was just a kid, right? He should be able to last a while, now that he was older.

But, _fuck,_ did he even _want_ to? No one was going to save him. He wasn’t going to entertain any other idea. Did he really want to spend the rest of Thomas’s days lost here? Just… _wandering? Alone? Terrified?_

… the thought kinda made Deceit want to stick his head in a Nightmare’s mouth.

— — —

You know that feeling you get when two of your closest friends suddenly recombine into one tall, idiotic mess of a man, kills a _dragon_ that killed —but not _really_ killed?— an enemy that also was sort of a parental figure to you, and the dragon was also the one who recombined the two idiots, and also the dragon was about to make you go into this weird _place_ everyone seems scared of but _never_ told you about, because one of your _other_ closest friends (and _another_ parental figure) sent the kinda-not-dead one there when they were _kids_ (and the not-dead parental figure apparently has PTSD and _never told you),_ and that created a chain of events that made the two friends who had _combined,_ split when they were _kids_ (because they originally were fused to _begin with)_ , and the dragon was taking revenge for that because the fusion of your friends _made_ her, and also the dragon had already sent the not-dead parental figure who was also your mortal enemy to the scary place again, because she didn’t like _him_ either, and also the fusion of two of your bestest friends was combined of the guy who liked your not-dead-enemy parental figure and the guy _you_ kinda-sorta-maybe- _definitely_ liked, so you were _pretty_ attached to the both of them, but your _second_ parental figure—and also this sort of feral-but-stoic vodka aunt who _definitely_ liked the second parent— had been _friends_ with the fusion so _someone_ was bound to lose a loved one no matter _what_ happened, but maybe that wouldn’t even _matter_ because the fusion of your bestest friend and your crush had just _collapsed_ after he killed the dragon and you were _pretty_ sure you were having a _heart attack?_

Yeah, I didn’t think so.

So you’ll understand Virgil’s line of reasoning, then, when he saw the King fall to the floor. With a distorted shriek, he _flung_ himself at the fallen fusion, Logan and Patton’s forms blurring as he scrambled past them. The two yelped and belatedly jerked away, but Virgil had already set the King’s head on his lap, making distressed little screeches as he frantically slapped the sides of his face, his voice too distorted to form actual words.

_Wake up wake up wake_ up! Virgil tried to say as he repeatedly smacked the King, but once more it just came out as a garbled mess.

Logan seemed to snap to attention as he processed what was going on, “Wait, Virgil!” He cried, and Virgil looked up frantically as Logan knelt down.

_But they—they’re not_ here _—they just_ fell _and they aren’t waking up!_ Virgil tried to protest, as images of Deceit _falling falling dying_ flashed through his mind. _They can’t die I’m not going to_ let _them die._

“The King is _fine.”_ Logan said calmly, although it was an obvious facade.

Logan wasn’t touching the King—which was smart— but he was _too close_ to Roman and Remus and it was taking _every single ounce_ of self-control in Virgil’s body not to give in to his instincts and _attack._ He curled his spider legs around them, like a sort of cage, and hissed at Logan, his mind nothing but the mantra of, _Get back get back get back get back—_

Logan seemed to understand, and quickly scootched back to a tolerable distance. Patton knelt down beside him, clutching Logan’s arm, voice timid, “...Virgil? Can you hear me, buddy?”

Virgil’s eyes flicked to him, but only responded with a fierce hiss, curling his legs tighter around him and the King.

“Taking in account his _spectacular_ track record of keeping grudges, I _highly_ doubt he is going to respond to _either_ of us.” Logan commented dryly to Patton.

Virgil’s head snapped to look at the logical side, making a crumpling, cracking sound in the back of his throat, _Well, fuck you, then!_

Logan pressed his lips together and blinked at Virgil, clearly annoyed, “I stand corrected.”

Patton worried at his bottom lip, “But the _King.”_ His voice sounded somewhat desperate, panicked.

“The King—” Logan’s voice sounded pinched, and he cleared his throat, “The King most likely just overexerted himself by fighting the Dra— by fighting _Circe.”_ Logan corrected himself, “It is highly likely that the refusion used up a lot of energy, and… well, he _was_ hit with a dragon tail while forty feet up in the air.” 

Patton made a distressed sound, and Virgil looked down at the King, batting at his face again as his panic started to rise up even more.

“I _said,_ he’s _fine,_ Virgil!” Logan snapped, then cut himself with a sharp exhale, pinching the bridge of his nose. He mumbled under his breath, probably not meant for anyone to hear, “It’s fine, it’s _fine,_ just think _logically,_ Logan.”

“Logan, let’s at least _try_ to stay civil?” Patton sounded weary, “I _really_ don’t want to watch _another_ argument. Why don’t you run Virgil through those calming exercises?” Patton’s tone said that it was for _Logan’s_ sake as much as it was for _Virgil’s._

“I’m sorry, but I don’t converse with _tantrum throwers.”_ Logan spat, crossing his arms childishly.

Virgil flipped him off, sneering at him.

Patton groaned, “Virgil, that is _not_ called staying civil.” He said sternly, “And Logan, maybe you could have a _little_ sympathy? Virgil is very worried about Roman and Remus and you _know_ he gets possessive and territorial when he’s like this.”

“See, the thing _is,”_ Logan shot back, “is that _I’m_ worried, too! Patton, it—it’s the _King.”_ His voice turned pleading, “And Virgil’s aura _really_ isn’t helping these _irrational_ thoughts—” Logan yanked off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, and Virgil spotted bits of eyeshadow under his eyes. When Logan looked back up, Virgil reared back a bit to see that Logan’s eyes were red, looking almost creepy when paired with the eyeshadow, “Can I touch him? Please? I just—I just need to feel his pulse.”

Virgil stared at Logan unblinkingly, mulling it over. Logan’s shoulders slumped, and he drew up his knees and hugged them defensively, staring sullenly at the King.

Virgil sighed inwardly and pulled back against his instincts, lifting his legs and breaking the defensive cage he had formed with them.

Logan looked up, his surprise evident on his face, and wasted no time in darting forward and snatching the King’s hand. His fingers seem to automatically press themselves to the fusion’s wrist, and after a second he let out a breath, “Thank you.”

Virgil nodded, a bit uncertain. It was rare to see Logan so distressed… though the circumstances _certainly_ warranted it, he had to admit. And he had apparently thrown up his aura—a kind of defense mechanism that acted the same way his room did, making those in it anxious and worried.

Patton had slid up to the King’s other side, gripping his hand, “…I always _did_ wonder what he’d look like, if he was our age.”

The comment made Virgil blink, actually taking in the King’s outfit. He was wearing grey, with black and white accents. He had a brown, somewhat sparkly sash, but when Virgil tilted his head one way, it shone green, and when he tilted his head the other way, it was red. The King didn't have a mustache, but he did have a streak of white in his hair, and Remus’s atrocious makeup seemed to have morphed into some _wicked_ eyeliner, with wings sharp enough to kill. Virgil was envious.

“When are they going to wake up?” Virgil whispered, voice low to avoid any distortion.

“I don’t know.” Logan murmured back.

Patton sighed, and he threaded his fingers through the King’s, “...Do you think they’ll unfuse? I don’t want to lose the King again, but…” he swallowed, “I don't want to lose _them,_ either.”

Virgil clenched his eight eyes shut as he remembered their argument, not even an hour before. What if that was their last conversation? What if Roman and Remus’s last memory of him was him telling them how much he hated them? Were Roman and Remus still _in_ there? What if they decided to _stay_ fused? Roman… Roman had mentioned _ducking out._ What if he never came out again? What if he convinced Remus to stay in the fusion, somehow?

What if it was _Virgil’s_ fault?

— — —

How long had it been? Deceit didn’t know. His phone was out of battery, his head spun with every step, and he was just so _tired._

His feet were numb by now, his head was spinning— had he mentioned that already?— his arm bled sluggishly, for some reason. He couldn’t feel it, only the cold slowly dripping down his arm, and he could see the pale blue with his infrared eye, against the worryingly yellow-green of his arm. His body heat was too low.

Deceit wasn’t sure if it was the fever, or the fact that there was no sun to give any hint to how long he’d been in the Subconscious, but he felt like he had spent _eons_ in here, slowly wasting away.

He was so _hungry._

Deceit pulled his cape around himself as he stumbled on his own feet. Part of him wanted to stop, to just… _rest._ He was so _tired._ But his self-preserving instinct wouldn’t let him. He couldn’t give up, he had to live, for Thomas’s sake.

Deceit shivered, despite the fire just under his skin, then stumbled as the world seemed to slide to the left. Yeah, he was _not_ healthy. His brain seemed to slosh around in his head, his skin prickling, his empty stomach lurching and growling and _heaving—_

_“Dee Dee?”_

Oh. Yeah. He had started hallucinating at one point, too. 

Deceit ran a gloved hand over his face. Maybe it was the Subconsious’s doing, maybe the fever’s, maybe he was going insane, or maybe it was just because of the pure want, the _need_ to be saved, but his brain seemed bent on conjuring up images and sounds of Remus or Virgil, telling him he was safe, that they were _saving_ him. 

But Deceit knew better than to humor the illusions. He ignored this one, too.

_“Deceit? Deceit, where are you?”_

Deceit curled his hands into fists, willing himself not to respond, taking in deep breaths through his nose. _Just one step at a time, Deceit._

_“Deceit?”_

“Shut up.” Deceit croaked out, “I— you’re not _real.”_

The voice—it was Remus’s, _because why wouldn’t it be_ — continued to call out. Deceit growled, one hand going up to hold his hat as he yelled back, “Fuck _off!_ You’re not even _fucking_ real! In the best case scenario, you’re stuck as the _King,_ and _worse_ case scenario—” Deceit cut himself off, throat suddenly tightening. _Worse case scenario, you’re_ _dead._

The voice didn’t call out anymore, replaced with a sharp ringing in Deceit’s ears.

Deceit, master of lies, _knew_ what hope was. Hope was a lie, more fake than the fakest smile, a bigger con than any conman could hope to achieve. A suspension of disbelief, is all it was.

Yes, Deceit knew what hope was. When he was Lying, he’d hoped that he’d be able to stop being ‘bad’ and make Mo happy. When he’d been wandering the Subconsious for the first time, he’d hoped that Mo might forgive him one day and save him. When they’d rescued Virgil, he’d hoped that they’d stay like that forever, just their oddball little family. Perhaps, secretly, privately, he’d hoped that he and Remus could be something (not that he had admitted it to himself yet). After he’d regained his memories, he’d allowed himself to hope that he’d be able to live, be happy, even, as Dee.

And look where _that_ got him.

So, _yes_ , Deceit _knew_ what hope was, but he was _not_ going to give into it again. Remus could be dead, the King might never unfuse, he might not even look for Deceit. Perhaps he’d look for Deceit, but give up after wandering in circles for hours. Who knows? With all these possibilities, it was virtually impossible for Remus to come save him. And Deceit _wasn’t_ going to _allow_ himself to hope that he would. That was how men went insane, and as bleak and boring and terrifying as his future looked, Deceit’s sanity was the one thing he had left, and he’d clutch to it with an iron fist before it escaped him.

Deceit winced as his headache flared, and he stumbled as his foot slid into a crevice, causing him to cry out as he landed on his hands and knees, a sharp, stabbing pain in his ankle.

 _Fuck!_ Deceit immediately scrambled to get a look—or, as well as he _could_ in the pitch-black— at his ankle, poking at it. It throbbed, and Deceit had to bite his lip when he moved it.

”Fuck,” he murmured quietly. It wasn’t broken, just sore and maybe sprained, but any injury— _especially_ ones to his feet— posed a big problem. Less walking, less speed... he’d have to take it easier for the next couple days.

Deceit’s head pounded as he laid back on the ground with a shiver. He’d just have to live with it.  
  


He was so _tired._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, sorry for the short chapter. Things have been busy lately. And sorry for that big block of text—it made me laugh so I didn’t move it lol. (I dare you to say all of it in one go)
> 
> Alsoooo,,,,, I’m going camping next week! So that means,,, you guessed it, no chapter next week!! The week after that is also when school starts, so there’s a slim chance that you’ll get one then as well. I’ll try my hardest, but promises! (Yeesh, I’m going to actually get a sleeping schedule now—)
> 
> Thannnkksss ig lol


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I’m back
> 
> Enjoy (:

Light shone brightly through the King’s eyelids. He blearily lifted a hand to his face, more or less slapping a hand over his eyes. He groaned— _seriously, who even_ has _a light this bright?_

Some part of him snickered at himself, _It’s called the_ sun, _dumbass._

_Yeah, yeah,_ the King waved a hand to dispel the odd conversation with himself. Remus was _not_ a morning person, apparently.

There was movement around him, and sounds. Frantic whispering and shushes, and this odd hissing noise that sounded akin to a panicking tire with a nail in it. Roman and Remus’s memories both told him that that was… someone important, that’s for sure. A friend?

The King’s brow furrowed as he realized something. He was _thinking_ differently! He was _him!_ Did his two halves fuse _more_ or something?

The King sat up, rubbing his head, causing the whispering to cease, in favor of three muted gasps.

The King opened his eyes with a big smile, and looked around him, “Did we win?”

Mo, to his left, squealed and _slammed_ into the King, squeezing him with all the might of a grizzly bear. Logic was clinging to his hand, tears in his eyes, — _wow_ — and the King pulled him in, thumping his back, “Ey, there, Specs! Never thought I’d see the day you’d get _misty-eyed_ over lil ol’ _me!”_

The King laughed again as Lo mumbled something into his chest. It felt _good_ to laugh. His enemies were vanquished, Mo and Lo were safe, and he was _back_ and _better than ever!_

The King turned to Morality, “And how are you, Papa Bear _hugger?_ You got some _muscle_ since I last saw you! With how tight you’re huggin’, gonna make me pop, _Pop!”_

Mo giggled at the play on words, and squeezed even tighter, “Well, get your ribs ready, because I’m _never_ gonna let you go!”

The King laughed as he made a show of struggling for breath, rasping out a, “After defeating the terrible Dragon Witch, our hero was _slain_ by a cute, adorable, _teddy bear!”_

“That’s ridiculous,” Logan sat back, and something in the King sank a little, but Logic was smiling, “I highly doubt that _anything_ physical would be able to take _you_ down, not after _that_ impressive display of strength.”

There seemed to be something inside the King that was swelling up, filling his chest as he grinned even brighter, and he brought Logan back into the hug, squeezing him and Patton as if to make up for the twenty years he had missed.

_“Gods,_ I _missed_ you guys.” The King whispered, “I just— I just wanna hug you guys until we’re all old and _rotten_ so I don’t miss any more of your guy’s lives.” 

Morality’s words were shaky, “We missed you, too, K. We missed you so, _so_ much.”

“You didn’t miss a thing.” Logan leaned back again to look at him seriously, “You are the metaphysical assumption of Roman and Remus put together. They’ve been here; therefore, _you_ have.”

The King sighed, “But it’s not the _same,_ y’know? I’m not _me._ I’m not—” The King pressed his lips together, not even knowing how he’d finish his sentence. _Whole? Powerful?_ _...Enough?_

“I know,” Logan’s voice was thick, and he cleared his throat, “believe me, I _know.”_

A noise behind them. Someone coughing awkwardly. The King pivoted in his sitting position, letting go of Mo and Lo, and jolted when he saw a side with _spider legs_ sprouting from his back. He felt like he should know him— _Roman_ and _Remus_ knew him— but his mind blanked when seeing him.

“Uh, hello…” the King searched for a name, but _seriously,_ the side had _eight eyes,_ can you really blame him if his name slipped his mind? The King settled with a nervous, “… _pal…?”_

The side gave him a flat stare. (Or maybe it was a sad one? It was… kinda hard to tell, with all the eyes)

“I… don’t know who you are.” The King confessed, and— oop, wait, that was _definitely_ a sad look. The side's eyes immediately started leaking tears, and although the side’s facial expression didn’t actually change, the King panicked, “No—wait, don’t cry! It’s buried in my head _somewhere,_ it’s just that my memories are a bit scrambled right now—having three sets of them, and all. Um, you were the side behind that door that appeared, right?” The King racked his brain for a scrap of information, “Umm… it starts with an… ‘ _A’?”_ The King cringed in anticipation, then seeming the side’s face, corrected himself, “No, _‘V’!_ It starts with a _‘V’,_ right?”

The side nodded wordlessly, and the King ran through all the _‘V’_ names he knew, closing his eyes in concentration, _Veeveeveevee uhhh VictoryVincentVelociraptorVelcroVanessaVirgin— wait!_

“Virgin!” The King’s eyes flew open, and he brightened.

In front of him, “Virgin” glared with all eight eyes (the effect was a little ruined by the leaking tears), “Okay, _listen here,_ asshat—”

The King held out a hand, laughing, “No, No _wait!_ I got this! Okay, um,” he started mumbling under his breath, _“Virginvirginvirginvirginvigilvirgilvirgil—_ wait—Virgil! _Virgil!”_ the King clapped his hands excitedly as the name _finally_ came to him, “Like a _band-aid!”_

Virgil’s eyes blinked in slight disunion, “Y— _yeah._ A band-aid.”

The King laughed, launching himself forward, “It’s nice to meet you, Virgil!” He wrapped his arms around the side, and Virgil immediately stiffened.

Something in the King _very strongly objected_ to the physical contact with Virgil, and he jerked back, as if on instinct. He paused, not quite knowing where that came from, “Um, sorry! I guess... one of them doesn’t want to hug you right now?” He gave Virgil an apologetic smile.

Virgil visibly relaxed, “No, uh, it’s fine. I’m…” his voice lowered into a barely audible mumble, “‘m not that much of a hugger, anyway…”

The King ran a hand through his hair, getting the silver strands out of his face, _“Oooh,_ I gotcha. Personal space! That’s reasonable! Less likely that someone will stab you, then.”

Virgil gave an anxious chuckle, which made sense, because he was Anxiety, right? “Um… yeah? I guess?”

The King tapped his chin with a finger, searching through his fuzzy memories, “Hmmm, I believe that I once attacked you?”

Virgil’s mouth twitched, “You could say that.”

“Ah.” The King nodded, “My apologies.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Virgil waved a hand, “I got back at ya, anyways.”

The King frowned thoughtfully as a piece of information came to him, “And… apparently I was the one to… kick you out?” The King made a face, looking anxiously around for confirmation, “Into the Subconscious?”

Patton gave the King an almost apologetic grimace, sucking in his breath through his teeth, “Yeah… you kinda _were…”_

_“Ooooohh….”_ King scrunched his nose and looked back towards Virgil, “Well, _that’s_ a little awkward…”

Virgil picked at his sleeves avoiding the King’s eyes, “I mean… Roman apologized, so it doesn’t really matter, I guess.”

“I’d really like to continue reminiscing,” Logan spoke up, “but… I don’t want Deceit to be trapped in the Subconscious any longer than he already has been.”

The King jolted.

— — —

_Gotta save Deceit gotta save Deceit GOTTA SAVE DECEIT_

His thoughts were scrambled, only brought into any form of coherence because of _anger._ He felt his face twist into a snarl as he spat at Logan, “Why do _you_ care, Moby _Dickface?”_

He hunched back over again, thoughts running together as his hold on consciousness slipped, fighting, _struggling_ to stay in control, _Can’t feel my arm where’s my hand my eye Where’s Deceit? No no no I can’t leave I gotta save Deceit gotta save Deceit no stop Roman stop I can’t feel my arm no stop stop no no STOP I HAVE TO SAV—_

— — —

The King blinked, shaking his head before looking up from his scrunched position, “Whoa,” he grinned, a bit nervously, “I just got _really_ dizzy for a sec.”

Logic was in front of him — funny, the King didn’t remember turning around — and he looked… Disgruntled? Startled? Maybe even... _scared,_ for some reason? He looked like he had jolted away from the King, arms out behind him to keep him from falling, and his stance told the King that he had been ready to scramble away. 

The King straightened his shoulders, looking around in confusion. Patton was covering his mouth with his hands, and Virgil's eyes were pouring out tears, blackened from his copious amounts of eyeshadow, once more (he didn’t seem to pay them any mind). The purple-patched side’s spider legs were drawn protectively around himself.

“Guys?” The King asked uncertainly, “Are you… good? You look like you just saw one of those...creepy undead twins, from the horror movies.”

Patton laughed nervously, tugging at the cat hoodie around his shoulders—the King dimly remembered when he conjured puppies to put in that— “Eheh, yeah, _twins..._ It’s, ah, _funny,_ that you put it like that…”

“Yeah, this whole situation is just _hilarious.”_ Virgil muttered, and the King was surprised by the darkness in his voice.

“What?” The King looked to Logan for an explanation, worried, “What happened?” He quieted a bit, “Did I… do something?”

“A bit of an understatement, if you ask me,” Virgil’s voice shook slightly, and something in the King recognized what he previously thought of as hostility, as barely-hidden panic. 

At the King’s confused—and likely mildly terrified— look, Patton worried at his lip, “You...you started... _glitching?”_ He said weakly, his tone more of a question than anything. The King’s face must have been more or less horrified, because Patton cringed, “I—um, and… you started yelling at Logan?” Patton looked down at his lap, starting to mumble, “You asked him why he even cared…”

“It was Remus,” Virgil spoke up, “That was his voice, and I saw— your eyes were _green.”_

“They _were?”_ Self-consciously, the King raised a hand to his face, then he shivered, looking at Logan, “I’m sorry,” he offered weakly.

Logan shook his head, still looking unsettled, but like he was trying hard not to be, “Don’t be,” he said, “especially if you weren’t in control of yourself at the moment, and besides,” Logan looked guilty, flashing a quick look to Virgil before looking back at the King, “I… well, perhaps I deserved it a _little_ bit.” Logan said the last part quickly, almost a mumble. 

The King remembered how the logical side always hated admitting he had been wrong, and his lips quirked up in a half-smile, _I guess some things never change._

Virgil raised an eyebrow, _“Perhaps?”_

“I’m not having this conversation right now.” Logan snapped, “There are more _pressing_ matters at hand.”

Virgil glared at Logan for a second, before huffing and looking away, “ _Fine._ But _only_ because I thought you were going to _die_ just then and now I’m rattled.”

“On the _topic_ of ‘rattled’,” Patton butted in nervously, “there’s a _certain_ snake that we should probably be _saving_ right about now?”

“By the snits of Medusa _herself,_ I forgot about _Lying!”_ the King cried out, springing to his feet, “Great _gods,_ we gotta _go!”_

“Whoa whoa whoa, hold your _horses,_ Princ—” Virgil cut himself off, blinking his eight eyes as he managed to look somehow both annoyed and distraught, _“—King.”_ he corrected himself awkwardly as he climbed to his feet, “We don’t even have a _plan_ yet. I hardly know what the Subconscious _is!_ We don’t know _what’s_ waiting for us in there!” Virgil looked down at Logan uncertainly, “Do we?”

Logan shrugged, “I don’t know. I’ve never been.”

Virgil huffed in annoyance, “Patton? You got anything?” 

Patton rubbed his arm, “If I _knew_ what it was like,” he said weakly, “I probably wouldn’t have _sent_ Deceit down there.”

Virgil threw up his hands in exasperation, “Okay. This is just _perfect._ We know next to _nothing_ about this place, we have a semi-amnesiac royal on our hands, and no way to make a plan to save Deceit!” He gave a sarcastic —mostly panicked— laugh, “ _Great.”_

“Well, I uh, I do know _one_ thing.” Patton spoke up.

Virgil waved a hand at him, “Sure, whatever, shoot.”

Logan straightened in alarm, _“Shoot?_ Why would Patton _shoot_ anything? He has no means of firing a weapon of _any_ sort.”

“It’s an _expression,_ Amelia Bedelia,” the King told Logan in a stage whisper.

“The Subconscious suppresses the ties a side has to Thomas,” Patton continued timidly, “I—I remember going in there a couple times, when we first discovered it. Trying to reach Thomas there—” Patton grimaced, “—it’s like swimming through molasses.”

“Oh, I’ve done that before!” The King butted it, “It’s _super_ slimy, and the molasses gets in _all_ the wrong places—” the King cut himself off as he saw the other’s faces, and he cleared his throat, “...sorry.”

Logan sighed, “Well, some of us should most definitely stay behind, then. It would be dangerous for Thomas’s _entire_ personality to be cut off from him.”

Virgil scrubbed at his still-leaking eyes. (was that just… a _thing?_ Did he just have _really_ watery eyes all the time, or was he just crying and no one was acknowledging it? Was this _normal?)_

“I _hate_ that that makes sense.” Virgil said. He sounded tired, “I’m _really_ not gonna like not being able to have you all where I can see you.”

“I’m sure _whoever_ is going will be _very careful.”_ Logan said placatingly.

Patton sighed, “Well, we all know who it’s gonna be, don’t we?” he said miserably. He sounded tired, too, as he gestured up towards Virgil and the King, “It’s gotta be you two.”

“Wait, _what?”_ Virgil’s head snapped up, _“No._ The King is _not_ coming.”

The King raised a hand to his chest with an offended scoff, “And why ever not, Little Panicked Piper?”

“First off, I’m not _little,_ you are just _freakishly tall.”_ Virgil hissed, “And _second_ of all, I’m not going to let Thomas’s _entire_ Creativity just _waltz_ off into danger again!”

“I can handle myself!” The King said defensively.

_“Can_ you?” Virgil challenged, “Because you seemed to have it _all_ covered when you fought the Dragon Witch!”

“For your information, I _did_ have it all under control when I was fighting Circe!” The King hesitated, “I think.” He looked towards Logan and Patton for confirmation.

Logan was already shaking his head, looking exasperated. Patton, bless his soul, was nodding vigorously, an excited and encouraging smile on his face, one that quickly faded as he saw Logan disagreeing, and Patton quickly switched from nodding to shaking his head.

The King stared at them for a sec, before sighing and looking back at Virgil, waving a hand and letting it plop back to his side, “Okay, so _maybe_ I don’t actually remember.” he admitted.

_“See?”_ Virgil flung a hand out towards the King, turning low adds Patton and Logan, “He hardly remembers _anything!_ And how do we know that that weird _glitch_ thing won’t happen again, _huh?_ What if he gets hurt? What if—what if there’s a _monster_ and he forgets how to fight?”

“Uh, I _highly_ doubt that I would _forget_ how to _fight.”_ The King scoffed.

“Might I remind you that when fighting Circe, you almost fell out of the sky at _least_ three times —and one time, you _did?”_ Virgil returned icily.

“She was a very _formidable_ opponent!” the King cried defensively. 

“Regardless,” Logan butted in, “the King _has_ to go, Virgil. It’s not like we can send anyone _else.”_

“Why not _you_ then, Logan?” Virgil growled challengingly.

Logan raised an eyebrow, “Do you _really_ think that sending the side that controls the functions of Thomas’s body _,_ such as _breathing_ and _cardiovascular functions,_ into the _Subconscious,_ where a side’s link to Thomas is _smothered,_ is the _best idea?”_

Virgil’s spider legs twitched as Virgil buried his face in his hoodie sleeves, _“Arrgh!_ There just _isn’t_ a good way to do this, _is_ there?” He griped.

Logan adjusted his glasses, “On the contrary, sending the _King—”_

_“No!”_ Virgil snapped, and a shock ran along the king’s spine to hear that it had become almost _layered,_ as if multiple, more _demonic_ Virgils were speaking about the same time.

Logan sighed roughly, more of a _huff_ than anything, “Then what do _you_ suggest, Virgil?” He asked shortly.

“I’ll go alone,” the spiderlike side immediately said.

_“Absolutely_ not,” Logan said, just as quickly, “that is a _reckless_ idea and you know it, Virgil.”

_“I’m_ not _going to watch any of you_ die _again!”_ Virgil shouted, his voice doing that terrifying demon-speak again, spider legs flaring out in anger.

Logan’s head reared back in surprise at Virgil’s sudden volume. Patton snapped to attention, staring in concern at Virgil, and the King looked between all of them, feeling as if he were watching an argument go down at a friend’s house.

“I can’t—” Virgil swallowed, the distortion in his voice just barely present, “I can't _go_ through that again.”

“And you won’t _have_ to,” Logan’s voice was calm, soothing, “the King will be _fine.”_

“Yeah!” the King piped up, “I mean, I killed the Dragon Witch in the end, didn’t I?”

Virgil sighed— a shuddering, almost hissing noise, “I _guess…”_ he murmured reluctantly, fiddling with the sleeves of his hoodie.

“So it’s settled?” The King spoke up again, then nodded once, “Great! Let’s go!”

“Wait!” Logan shot up, looking alarmed, then stopped himself, “Uh, I mean, Patton, why don’t you talk to Virgil about that thing you mentioned to me? It wouldn’t hurt to run him through some breathing exercises, either.”

“I don’t think I said anything?” Patton tilted his head from where he sat, “I don’t remember saying anything.”

Logan glared at Patton, mouthing something frantically, and Patton jumped, “Um, I mean, _yeah!_ Here, Virgie, c’mere, lemme tell you this thing that I told Logan earlier! It’s _super_ helpful!”

Virgil narrowed his eyes, his gaze switching back and forth from Patton to Logan, “What are you—” he started suspiciously, but Patton cut him off by jumping to his feet and dragging him away.

Patton pulled Virgil off to the side, “Let’s talk about it over _here,_ Virgie! I’m sure _Logie_ and _Kinnie_ don’t wanna hear us _jabbering_ away, right?” Patton looked over his shoulder, mouthing a clear, _“hurry!”_ to Logan and the King.

“Uh, Patton, I don’t think that nickname means what you think it means—” Virgil’s voice faded out as he was herded away.

The King shifted from foot to foot, as Logan breathed out a sigh of relief, “...Okay, then?” 

Logan straightened before tugging the King down by his sash so that their faces were level, “Okay, listen here and listen _well,_ King,” he hissed, “Virgil is occupied for _now,_ but Patton isn’t going to be able to keep him distracted for long, and we have to speak _quietly_ because Virgil has _impeccable_ hearing in this form.”

The King blinked at Logan, a cheeky smile growing on his lips, “Why, Logan, if you wanted some alone time with me, you coulda just _asked,”_ he practically purred.

Logan scoffed in disgust, “Now is _not_ the time to let your Remus show, King,” he scolded.

The King wriggled his eyebrows, “Oh, I can let a lot more than _that_ show!”

Logan huffed, rubbing the spot in between his eyes with his hand, “I’m _serious,_ King! It is _imperative_ that you hear this!”

“I kid, I kid,” the King held up his hands in surrender, “What gives, Teach?”

“I lied a little to Virgil,” Logan whispered urgently to the King, “but it was the _only_ way he would let you come. It is actually _exceedingly_ dangerous for you to go into the Subconscious.”

The King’s brow furrowed in concern, “How so?”

“You are unstable,” Logan said, “and we are unsure about what the Subconscious might do to you, but it is out of the question for me—and _especially_ Patton— to go, so I’m afraid that the role falls to _you.”_

The King nodded solemnly, and Logan continued, “If anything goes wrong, King, _you need to split.”_ Logan urged, “If you glitch out, or if you _feel_ like something is off, you back out, understand? If you don’t...” Logan’s face darkened, “I don’t think even Roman or Remus would remain.”

The King felt something _twist_ in his gut, “But… I haven’t even been able to catch up with you guys! I still have to say hi to Lying!”

“I know,” Logan’s voice broke, and he glanced toward Virgil and Patton, blinking, “but we _can’t_ lose Thomas’s Creativity. The most you can do to avoid splitting,” Logan looked back up at the King, “is to be _careful,_ okay? Please.”

The King nodded, “I will, I promise.”

Logan hesitated, “And uh, King—” he cleared his throat, “since there is a very _real_ chance of you not returning in one piece, may I just say—”

The King was already hugging Logan, wrapping his arms around him and lifting the logical side up, “Save it for when I get back, Specs, kay?” 

Logan squeaked in indignation, wiggling in protest, “King, this is bad for your back! Put me _down! Now!”_

The King laughed, spinning around, “I refuse!” He declared.

“Patton, make him _stop!”_ Logan wiggled even more, his arms trapped, “This is _unprofessional!”_

The only warning the King had was the increasing volume of Patton’s giggles, and the flashes of blue he saw as he whirled around, before Patton _slammed_ into him with all the force of a freight train.

_“Shit!”_ The King yelped, and they all tumbled to the floor in a heap.

The trio lay there for a second, stunned, and Virgil’s shadow fell over them as he walked up, blocking out the sun.

“Wow,” Virgil remarked, hands in pockets as the King squinted up at him, “You really _are_ dumbass squared.”

The King stuck his tongue out at him, and Virgil snorted, “Let’s just go and save Deceit already.” he held out a hand to help the King up, “Shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slams hands on desk* LET! THEM! BE! HAPPY!
> 
> (Was this chapter an excuse to write more of the King and show off everyone’s dynamic? _Absolutely._ )
> 
> Little to no editing went to this, so uh,,, sorry about that hehe. We went inner tubing on a river , and we were supposed to come back home at like three-ish, and instead came back at around nine. I am tired.
> 
> Also, I’m not sure how many of you know this, but I live in California and the fires are realllllly close to my town, so if I end up having to be evacuated this is definitely going to go on hiatus until things calm down. But! That hopefully won’t happen, so you don’t have to worry about anything :)


	35. Into The Unknown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Brendan Urie screaming*

_“Virgilllllll,_ I’m gonna _miss_ you!” Patton practically sobbed onto Virgil’s shoulder, squeezing so tight that Virgil felt his spine pop.

“Patton—” Virgil choked out, “Patton, I can’t— breathe. Personal bubble, buddy.”

Patton gave Virgil one last squeeze—Jesus _Christ—_ before stepping back, his eyes refilling—oh _god,_ please don’t say he was going to start crying again because Virgil _really_ couldn’t deal with that right now— “B-Bubble buddies! Like _Steven Universe!”_

_Great_ . Virgil patted Patton’s back as the emotional side wiped his eyes, sending an exasperated look to Logan and the King, mouthing, _‘help me!’_.

The King got the message, snapping to attention, “There’s no reason to cry, Daddy-o!” he declared, “Why, we already decided we’d come back in a couple hours if we were unsuccessful!”

“But you’re still _leaving,_ and you _know_ I hate goodbyes!” Patton sniffed, loud and wet.

“Yeah, well…” Virgil searched for a comforting, not-mean thing to say, “...deal with it…?”

Patton looked up and stopped crying just long enough to pout at Virgil, and Logan sighed in disappointment, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Virgil looked to the logical side for help, “I’m _really_ bad at this.”

“That’s the most correct thing you’ve said all _week,”_ Logan grimaced.

Virgil winced, “Yeah, okay, I kinda deserved that.” 

Logan stepped forward, lightly touching Patton’s elbow, “Patton,” he said with surprising gentleness, “it’s time to say goodbye to the King.”

(Why did he say that with such _finality?)_

Patton launched himself at the King, almost bowling him over with his momentum. Patton clung to the King’s neck, “I love youuuuuu!” He sobbed out, his face all snotty and teary, “Please don’t get lost in the Subconscious!”

Now it was the _King’s_ turn to rub Patton’s back, “Umm...I’ll be careful?”

The King sent an indecipherable look to Logan, mouthing... _something._ Virgil’s eight eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he elected not to say anything.

“Ah, Virgil,” Logan turned towards him, but Virgil cut him off, crossing his arms.

“For the record,” Virgil eyed Logan, “I’m still mad at you. I’m _furious,_ in fact. Patton, too, if I think about it too much.”

Logan’s shoulders fell, “Oh.” 

Virgil glared at him a bit more, until he sighed, rolling his eyes, “C’mere, nerd.” He reached out with one of his spider legs and pulled Logan into a hug.

Logan stiffened in surprise, before relaxing into the embrace.

“Just because I’m mad at you doesn’t mean I have to be an _ass_ about it.” Virgil murmured, before pulling away—there had been _way_ too much hugging in the past five minutes— “Holding grudges have never really worked out for me, anyways.”

Logan smiled weakly, and the King called out from the side, “Hey, Virgey, we ready to go?”

“Yeah—and don’t call me _Virgey.”_ Actually, Virgil didn’t know why he tried, the King was going to do it anyway. Virgil made his way towards the fusion, looking between them and Patton, who was wiping away a few stray tears, “So, I actually have no idea how we _get_ there. Is it like, a ‘random door opening up’ situation, or a ‘fade to black’ type deal?”

“I can make a portal!” The King announced triumphantly, then squared his shoulders, “Allow me to demonstrate.”

The King stuck his hand out into midair, grabbing nothing and then twisting his hand as if opening a door. Then, he seemed to grab whatever he was holding ith his other hand, and then he seemed to tear the fabric of _reality_ itself, pulling his hands apart from each other with a long _riiiiiiiiiiiiip._

And then, before the four (technically five) sides, there was a Thomas-sized portal in the air, looking like the inside of a geode—if the geode was completely black and gave off the same vibes as Satan’s shoe closet.

Virgil shivered, his spider legs closing around him protectively as he stared at the inky blackness that opened up before him, seeming to float in midair.

“That’s the Subconscious?” Virgil found himself asking, “Is it just… _black_ the whole way through?”

The King nodded solemnly, “This is it.” he confirmed, “We _miiigght_ die,” he paused as Logan spluttered angrily behind them, “or maybe...um... go _insane? ”_

Virgil’s spider legs twitched as Logan groaned in frustration.

_“Thanks,”_ Virgil drawled sarcastically, “that does _wonders_ for my anxiety.”

The King shrugged.

“Well, then…” Virgil glanced uncertainly at Logan and Patton, then back to the King, “I suppose we should get going?”

The King shrugged, “I’m ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Now’s really _not_ the time for a musical number, but good to know, I guess.” Virgil inspected the portal, “So...we just… climb in?”

The King shrugged, “Sure.”

“Okay…” experimentally, Virgil prodded at the edge of the portal, surprised when his hand didn’t fall through the barrier between portal and not-portal. The edge felt like a thick curtain— one belonging on a stage— had ripped, but instead of showing the backstage of a theater, it showed the backstage of Thomas’s mind. 

Virgil was about to stick his foot into the portal, but a word from Patton stopped him, “Wait.”

Virgil looked over his shoulder, “Yeah, Dad?”

Patton fiddled with his shirt, his eyes filling up again, “I love you guys.” his voice wobbled as he looked up at the King, “Stay safe, ‘kay?”

The King looked at him for a moment before nodding, “Of course, Padre. I’ll stay safe.”

There was something in both of their gazes that made Virgil think they were referring to something that Virgil didn’t know about. He stored that information away for later, instead tugging in the King’s sleeves, nodding to the two other sides, “Um, love ya too, and all that. Bye, Dad. Bye, Teach. Now come on, King. We got a snake to save.”

And, before he could back out of it, Virgil forced himself past the silky edges of the rip in reality and into the void of the Subconscious.

— — —

Virgil’s foot fell about a foot down farther than he expected it to, and he yelped, stumbling.

Okay, fuck this. He was no longer feeling brave, and wanted out. Virgil spun around, only to feel his stomach drop when there was nothing there.

“Fucking _hell.”_ Virgil hissed, and he could practically feel his heart beating out of his chest. His spider legs flared out in alarm, and he instinctively fell into a defensive stance as he stared at the open air.

_“Nope.”_ Virgil could feel his hands shaking, “This is _not_ happening. _Uh-_ uh. This _can’t—”_

Virgil let out a series of screeches as he felt his instincts take over, and he sunk to the ground, hands buried in his hair as he struggled to control his breathing.

_Stay in control, Virgil._ he told himself, _Don’t lose your head. Stay calm. Uuhhh, what can you see? I can see the floor. My hands. My knees. Jacket. There isn’t—there isn’t much to see. That’s fine, everything's fine. What can I smell? There’s… no scents nearby. Stay calm stay calm you can think your way through this. Uhh shit shit shit what can I taste?_ Fear. _What can I hear? Still nothing. Shit shit shit. What can I smell? Fuck shit I already said that there’s nothing nothing to smell. What can I feel? cold. I feel SCARED. I feel like I’m going to be trapped in here forever and I won’t be able to find Deceit it he’s dead already and I couldn’t save him save him Deceit’s_ dead _again I’m trapped in here I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t—_

Virgil was hunched over, face sweaty despite the cold. His breaths came in puffs, and he whispered to himself as best as he could with his vocal chords all screwed up, _Stay in control stay in control control control stay in control don’t lose your head you’re fine just breathe five seven eight stay in CONTROL—_

A noise.

A _noise?_

_A noise!_

Virgil’s head snapped up as he saw a boot fall out of midair, connected to a leg, which was connected to the rest of the King.

In a flash, Virgil was on his feet, _slamming_ into the King with a distorted cry.

The King yelped, “Oh my— _shit_ , dude, what the _heck?”_

With his vocal chords still in _Screeeee_ mode, Virgil couldn’t reply in any human sounds, but he cussed out the King as best he could into his shirt, scolding him for _scaring_ him like that _and why the heck did you take so long I thought I was gonna_ die _you prick—_

“Whoa whoa whoa _whoa,”_ the King set his hands on Virgil’s shoulders, “Spidey, what _happened?”_

Virgil pulled his head back with a hiss, _What_ happened? _You_ left _me, you asshole! Why did you take so long? I thought you had trapped me in here forever!_

With his enhanced vision, Virgil saw the King make a confused face, “Umm, I can’t understand you in your demon-speak, but you seem mad at me and I don’t… know what I did? I mean, what could have _possibly_ happened in the _ten_ seconds I spoke to Patton and Logan? Did you see something that freaked you out, or what?”

Virgil paused in his berating, his eight eyes blinking in surprise, then tilted his head with a chirruping noise, incredulous, _Ten seconds? Uh, can you try_ five minutes, _maybe? Keep track of time, dude!_

There was a small pause. Then, “I don’t know how to interpret that noise, Virgil. I don’t happen to be a _spider.”_ Another pause, “I mean, maybe I _could_ be, if I really _tried,_ but I don’t know if it’d work here...hmmm…” the King rubbed his chin in contemplation.

Virgil swallowed the _Screee_ away, forcing himself to speak in a slightly more _human_ tone, although some of the distortion was still present, “I was telling you that there's no way in the _heck_ that that was only _ten_ seconds, you royal _pain in the ass!_ I was alone for at _least_ five minutes! Or three! I don’t actually know!”

The King squinted at Virgil, “Umm...no. I literally only said a _couple_ things, there’s no _way_ that it took _that_ long. Are you sure it wasn’t just your anxiety making it seem longer?”

_“Fuck_ no!” Virgil shrieked, “I didn’t have a panic attack on the ground for _ten seconds,_ dude!”

The King frowned, “Wait, _panic attack?_ Are you okay?”

Virgil sighed harshly, running his hand through his bangs in a surprisingly Roman-like fashion, “I’m fine, _now._ ” _Not really,_ “Just— what’s going _on?_ I _know_ that I spent a _while_ all alone—I’m _good_ at counting! Did you just get into a conversation and lose track of time?”

The King shook his head slowly, looking like he was contemplating something, “Do you have a watch?” he asked.

“Umm…” Virgil eyed the King, “...no? I mean, I have a phone, so I guess that might work for whatever you want.”

“Yes, yes,” the King waved his hand, “use the stopwatch thingy on it.”

Virgil quickly summoned his phone, opening the app, only to stare in confoundment as he watched the numbers ticking away at a snail's pace, “No fuckin _way.”_ _Time runs_ slower _here?_

“What? Lemme see!” the King leaned over, and let out a breath through his teeth when Virgil turned the phone to show him, _“Curses.”_

Virgil nodded, “Curses is _right,”_ he growled, “because _this_ means that Deceit has probably been in here for _days.”_

The King inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring in the glow of the phone, _“Fuck.”_

Virgil eyed him worriedly, “Are you gonna glitch out again? Start screaming or something?”

The King didn’t seem to notice, instead hugging himself, seeming to be caving in, imploding on himself. He whimpered.

“King?” Virgil was alarmed, now, “King, are you... _okay?”_

“It was _our_ fault.” A whisper, harsh, as if it were ripped out from the King, “Oh my _god.”_

Virgil could feel his spider legs raising in alarm as he felt the King’s anxiety spike, “King, _what_ was our fault? What are you talking about?”

“I…” the King’s breaths were coming faster, more choppy, “I… it was _my_ fault. I— I messed up _again—”_

Virgil grabbed the King’s arm, “King!”

The King froze for a second, then shuddered.

Virgil hesitated, unsure of what he should do, “...King?”

The King shook his head, “Uh, hold on a sec, I got really lightheaded for some reason. I think I might start...y’know… glitching again?”

Virgil’s spider legs sank as he realized what had happened, “…I think you just _did.”_

“I—I _did?”_ the King straightened, looking upset, “Oh _gosh,_ I’m sorry. Did I threaten you? Tell you I’d take out your brains with a hot iron stick? Post bad pictures of you all over the internet?”

“While that does _not_ help my anxiety, you... _didn’t,_ actually.” Virgil let go of the King, “You… just went _silent…_ I think you might’ve been having an anxiety attack?” _As in, I_ know _you were having an anxiety attack._

The King was quiet for a second, “...oh.”

Virgil cleared his throat awkwardly, “So… do we just… start walking?”

The King shrugged, “Sure.”

— — —

_-Rat-tat-_ tat-

_“Y-yeah, Mo?”_

_“Hey, Ly. I brought you food, If you want. Mommy made chicken nuggets for Thomas.”_

_“...”_

_“Lying?”_

_“I’m not hungry.”_

_“You gotta eat, though! Logic says that in order to be healthy, you have to eat three nutri…nutriti…_ nutritious _meals a_ day!”

_“Go away!”_

_“Ly…”_

_“I said go_ away! _I don’t wanna talk to you!”_

_”I—”_

_“...”_

_“Lying, I-I’m sorry. I know you don’t like being grounded. I… really_ wish _that I didn’t have to make you_ do _this, but I don’t know what else_ to do! _I’ve seen teachers hit kids when they were bad in old-timey shows, but I don’t want to do that! Hitting is_ wrong! _I j-just…”_

_“...”_

_“I’m sorry, L.”_

_“...”_

_“Let me know when you’re hungry, ‘kay?”_

_“...no.”_

_“O-okay. I-I love you.”_

“...right.”

— — —

“So...King…” Virgil began awkwardly as they trekked across the uneven landscape—because how were you supposed to talk to a fusion of some of your bestest friends that had _no_ memory of you?— “What’s it like? Being a fusion? I mean, _earlier_ you were acting a _lot_ different, so…” He cringed, his spider legs curling inwards with the action, “If that's too personal, that's like, _fine,_ you can ignore me if you want—”

“No, no, it’s fine!” the King reassured, “I just—” he shrugged, his outfit rustling with the action, “I don’t feel… very different than… y’know, a _regular_ side right now. I don’t feel like a fusion, I feel like… _me!”_ he sighed, “Before I killed Circe, I kept arguing with myself—I didn’t have a really consciousness, it was just Roman and Remus manning the ropes, but when they saw Circe about to hurt you…” he shrugged again, “they made the choice to work together to protect you guys, and… well, their consciousnesses melded into one— _me.”_

“Oh.” Why did Virgil feel so _dissapointed?_

(In all honesty, he knew _exactly_ why, but he was _not_ going to entertain the idea of the King staying fused _forever_ because he had _enough_ on his plate, _thank you very much,_ and he was _not_ going to work himself into a panic attack about never seeing his friends again _because he couldn’t handle that right now._ Anyways, it wasn’t like he could just _ask_ the King to unfuse. Logan and Patton _just_ got him back, and Deceit should get the chance to see his old friend again!)

“Virge?” 

Virgil shook his head, realized that he had gotten lost in his thoughts as he walked, “Yeah?”

“Um, what happened while I was...absent? I mean, my memories are still all _tangled,_ so I basically have like, a twenty-year _gap_ in my memory, with only the barest amounts of information to go on.” Virgil saw him sneak a glance at him out of the corner of his eyes, “I mean… Lying has a different _name_ now? When did _that_ happen? And… I feel like… something bad happened to him? Other than, y’know, _this_ whole thing.” he waved his arms around him.

Virgil stopped moving. The King did as well, “...Virgil?”

“Um.” Virgil shifted uncomfortably, thinking back to how the King had become unstable every time he got bad news, “Maybe...maybe we shouldn’t talk about that right now.”

“Oh.” The King’s shoulders slumped, “That bad, huh? Was it recent?”

“Four months ago,” Virgil replied, vaguely wondering if he should be giving him any information about the subject, “it was… _really_ bad.” _As in, Deceit frickin_ died.

It was silent for a few uncomfortable moments, before Virgil suddenly thought back to the odd looks and whispered before they had left the others, and Logan’s nervousness had not been lost on him. 

Was the King…?

Virgil took note of the nervousness that settled around the King like a bunch of moths to a light.

Yeah, the King was _definitely_ hiding something.

_And Virgil was going to find out what._

“Hey _King…”_ he started nonchalantly, “What were you and Logan talking about earlier?”

Immediately, the King started spluttering, and Virgil heard the fusion’s heart rate increase, and his nervousness suddenly flared, “Wh- _whaaaaattt?_ When? We didn’t—we didn’t talk about anything _important!”_

_And so the spider catches the fly._ Virgil thought darkly, a wicked—and very, very _angry—_ grin growing on his face as his suspicions were confirmed, “So… you’re _not_ hiding anything important from me?”

The King shook his head frantically, _“Nope!”_

Virgil slowed, tone warning, “King…”

The King’s footsteps stuttered to a stop, and he stared at Virgil in panic. Virgil blinked his eight eyes at him, one right after the other, waiting. 

“Uh, _gotta go—”_ the King darted away, but Virgil was expecting such a reaction.

_“Not so fast!”_ he growled, Tempest’s Tongue lacing his words, and as quick as lightning itself, he reached out a spider leg and caught the King by the cuff of his collar.

The King made a _“grrk”_ noise as he was yanked back, and he struggled, trying to get away, but Virgil held him still with two more spider legs, not unalike to a spider with its prey. The King squeaked as Virgil used his bottom two spider legs to raise himself a couple inches taller then the King, just for the intimidation factor.

“Okay, _this_ is just _unfair.”_ the King complained, crossing his arms, “I’m up against Henry _Scare_ -lik himself, who has spider legs and apparently _superspeed_ and _strength.”_

Virgil scoffed, “You just took down a _dragon.”_

“A dragon _witch!”_ The King corrected shrilly.

“You’re not helping your case, Re—your _highness.”_

The King sighed in exasperation, “What do you _want_ from me?”

“You _know_ what I want.” Virgil shook him lightly, the threat—and the Tempest’s Tongue— in his voice returning, _“What. Did Logan. Say.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Making a pof reference in _my_ fic? Not likely than you’d think.
> 
> And sjsjsjsn this chapter was so fun to write—turns out that you can be funny (I hope) when no one is about to die! :D


	36. Banana Split, You Make Me Sick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you say four, you’re out the door :)
> 
> Halfway through making this, I was reintroduced, and then _re-_ reintroduced to the art of overusing italics and hyphens. I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.

Virgil was going to _scream._

_“Logan did WHAT?”_ He practically screeched at the King, who he was still keeping immobile with his spider legs.

The King cringed back, “He… _lied?_ To you?”

_“I heard what you said!”_ Virgil snapped at the King, _“It was a_ rhetorical _question.”_

“Oh.”

Virgil growled, dropping the King—he hadn’t even realized that he had lifted him— and stomped around on his spider legs, _“That_ bastard!” he screamed into the blackness of the Subconscious, _“I'm going to kill him with my own_ bare _hands! There won’t be_ anything _left of that nerd when I’m through with him!”_

“Uh, Virgil, maybe we could, um, quiet down? Just a bit?” the King suggested meekly.

Virgil spun towards him, _“Like_ hell _I'm going to_ _quiet down!”_ he snarled, _“You could_ die!”

“Well, I mean, there’s a way to stop it—” came the King’s bumbling reply.

Virgil immediately grabbed him by the sash, “Tell me. _Now.”_

The King gulped, raising his hands in surrender, “He said—” he started haltingly, “he said that if I—if I split. Then at least Roman and Remus would be safe.”

Virgil felt his eight eyes widen, his spider legs relaxing as he took in that information, and he released the King, “And you still have to see Deceit...” he murmured, and the King nodded.

“I mean, I’d at least like to catch up with everybody before I…” the King hesitated, “before I leave.”

Virgil’s spiderlegs sank, and he groaned in frustration, pulling on his hair angrily “Why is it always so _complicated?”_ he growled out, the distortion in his voice rising at the end of his sentence, “Can’t we just have it _easy?_ For _once?”_

The King started to say something, probably a sappy comfort thing that would make Virgil either _cry_ or _throw up,_ but Virgil whirled on him before he got a chance.

“You need to _leave.”_ he snapped, “If you’re not going to _split,_ then you need to _go_ and _be_ _safe.”_

_“No._ That is _not_ happening.” the King immediately rejected, “You can’t make a portal—only Thomas’s _heart_ and _dreams_ can do that.”

Virgil knew this already— that’s what Patton had pulled him aside to tell him earlier, “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you stay here and _die!”_ his hands were clenched, sharpened nails digging into his skin.

“Virgil, you had a _panic attack_ when you were alone in here for _five_ minutes!” The King cried, “Do you really think you could stay in here, _alone,_ for _hours?”_

“I could deal with it.” Virgil growled, but he could feel himself blanching at the prospect. _All alone… in_ this _place?_

The King took a cautious step forward and placed his hands firmly on Virgil’s shoulders, “Virgil, I have Remus’s stubbornness and Roman’s hero complex. You can _not_ convince me to leave you behind. And _I_ might not know you _personally,_ but Roman and Remus do, and they care for you, so there is _no_ way I’m going to leave you behind.”

Suddenly, all Virgil could think of was the argument he had had with the twins, the horrible things he had said, the things he shouldn’t’ve mentioned, the insults…

“Then _split,_ if you’re not going to leave.” He spat, “I won’t let you put yourselves in _danger!”_

The King lifted his hands off of Virgil’s shoulders, “O-okay,” he swallowed, “okay.”

Virgil blinked, spider legs scrunching inward in surprise. He...hadn’t actually expected the King to agree so _readily._

The King stepped back, closing his eyes, “I just gotta—” he swallowed again, “I just gotta focus for a sec.”

Virgil wrapped his spider legs around himself as he stared at the King. This was the right thing to do, he was _sure_ of it, but… was he now basically responsible for the King’s _death?_ Was this an okay thing to ask of him? What about Deceit, and Logan, and Patton? They all _knew_ the King, and now… Virgil was telling him to _split._ What if something went _wrong?_ What if the King _died_ in the process? Would Roman and Remus be mad at him? _Again?_ What would the rest of the sides say? What if they all _hated_ him after this?

Virgil shook his head and squared his shoulders. _That’s a risk I have to be willing to make._ He’d done it before, hadn’t he? He’d _gladly_ suffer their hatred if it meant they were all safe. He _wasn’t_ going to let another one of his loved ones die in front of him—not again. _Never again._

In front of him, the King’s forehead had creased. Virgil was about to ask him if he even knew _how_ to split, but then the King shuddered, hunching over and clutching his head, “N- _no!_ I—”

Virgil’s spider legs flared in alarm, and he could feel his eyes start to water as adrenaline kicked in. The King’s anxiousness had just increased by a _ton,_ and his heart rate was faster than a speeding bullet, _“King?”_

— — —

~~Nonononono lemme go back Remus Remus let me back I can’t I can’t icant _icanticanticant,_~~

He didn’t know. He didn’t know what he didn’t know. All he knew is that they _couldn’t split._ They couldn’t split because it was _their fault_ and he wasn’t _any_ kind of prince and he needed to make up for doing it, being bad, scaring him, scaring _them,_ yelling, _existing._ He struggled with his other half and _begged_ at him, trying to just make him _see,_ trying to convince him to _stop_ before it was _too late—_

He squeezed their eyes shut as he wrapped their arms around himself, holding their body together, his mind rushing, rushing, _begging_ — and then his hands were in their hair, and he was _shaking_ as he howled out—

”It was _our fault,_ Remus!”

— — —

The panicking King looked up for a brief moment as Virgil held him upright, and with his enhanced sight Virgil caught a dull glimpse of the color of his eyes. They were a bright red.

“Roman?” he whispered, and the King—was he technically Roman at the moment? Fusions were weird— shuddered at the name.

“Virgil, tell him we can’t split.” Roman begged, “It was our —my—we _can’t_ split yet!”

Virgil helped the fusion sink to the floor, his heart pounding, hands trembling, “Roman, why _not?_ _What’s_ your fault?”

The King trembled, his form blurring and shifting, and when he looked up again, his eyes were a toxic green.

Remus— was it Remus? Yeah, he was _definitely_ Remus— gave Virgil a grin, which was somewhat _terrifying_ , given the situation. (Actually, _everything_ that had happened in the past twenty-four hours was pretty terrifying. Virgil was getting pretty sick of it, to be honest.)

“Hey, Vergillio!” Remus chirped, but the cheery effect was lost as he winced, one eye closing in pain, “—gnnngh, Roman’s _really_ not letting go, is he? _Told ya_ he’s clingy!” He wrapped a hand around his gut, making Virgil tighten his hold on him in terror, “L-like a _leech!”_

“Remus, now is _not_ the time for making fun of Roman!” Virgil struggled to keep his Tempest’s Tongue in check. The twins were about to _die_ and if Virgil lost control that would help _nobody._

The unstable fusion cried out, the hand that was around their stomach going up to their head. The King’s form destabilized and restablized, and Virgil had to let go to avoid hurting them.

“K-King, what do I _do?”_ The nails of Virgil’s right hand dug into his other arm, “What’s _wrong?_ Why doesn’t Roman want to unfuse?”

For a few _terrifying_ moments, the King didn’t answer, his whole body trembling violently, before he went limp, falling to the floor like a ragdoll.

Virgil yelped, voice distorting— _Is he fucking DEAD?— “King!”_

To Virgil’s _infinite_ relief, the King groaned, rolling onto his back, “Lemme take a wild guess.” he said, eyes closed, “It didn’t work.”

Virgil almost collapsed with relief, “No _shit,_ Sherlock.”

The King made an indecipherable noise, like a verbal keysmash, “I feel like the living incarnation of floor vomit at a carnival—the kind that’s been sitting in the sun for three hours.”

Virgil made a face, _“Thank you_ for that visual.”

The King’s reply was strained, “O-only the _best_ for you, Spidey.” 

The King groaned again—the tired, somewhat _sickly_ kind— and he curled up onto his side, and Virgil could feel him vibrating-shaking- _trembling_ again, and his hands pressed against his head as if he was trying to keep it in one piece —which he probably _was._

“King!” Virgil yelled again, and he reached out a hand to grab his arm—and felt his stomach drop as if he were on a rollercoaster as his hand fell _straight through the King._

Virgil’s eyes widened, and he immediately made a panicked-distressed- _terrified_ screeching noise, his thoughts a stampede of fear in his mind, _Holy SHIT oh my god shit fuck holy FUCK motherfucking fucker of HELL_ my _hand just fell straight fucking through_ his _hand_ _oh my god the King is gonna_ die _Roman and Remus are about to_ DIE _holy fucking hell Deceit and I are trapped here forever everyone’s gonna die Patton and Logan are gonna be_ all alone—

_“Virgil!”_ a hand—a _real, solid, not-fading_ hand, blurred into Virgil’s vision, falling onto his wrist. Not the wrist that owned the nails that were digging into Virgil’s leg, but the one he was using to clutch blindly at the King’s sleeve.

Virgil was startled by the physical contact and the noise enough that he was shocked into letting go—both of his pants and the King’s sleeve. (He had probably put a nice set of holes into the fabric...Oops.)

“Virgil, I’m _okay.”_ The King was saying, but the sudden contact and noise didn’t startle Virgil _so_ much that he had lost all _common sense._ He leveled the King with a flat stare.

“You _know_ that’s not true!” Virgil growled, a touch of distortion in his voice. It was difficult to speak, and even _more_ difficult to speak without it being a panicked screech. He struggled to keep his volume in check as he continued, “King, _you need to split._ I don’t know _why_ Roman doesn’t want to do it, or what he _blames_ himself for, but _goddamnit,_ King, my hand just _fucking_ fell though you for a sec and you’re going to _fucking die_ if you don’t, so just _unfuse_ right now before the _Subconsious_ decides to do it _for_ you!”

Virgil’s eyes widened and his spider legs twitched as the King _flinched._

“I—um, _about_ that…” the fusion stuttered out, “so maybe...I _shouldn’t?_ Unfuse, I mean.”

Virgil was ready to scream. Or cry. Or—he didn't actually know, but it was _something_ bad. 

_Do I really have to do this?_ He asked himself, _Here? Now?_

Forcing himself to think clearly and _not panic,_ Virgil realized that yes, he did. 

He studied the King for a second. The King’s eyes were no longer the red-green-blue-orange-grey medley of colors that mirrored the Dragon Witch’s, like they had been before, nor were they the swirly mix of brown—like rich dirt, or something… Virgil was bad at comparing things— that they had been during the King’s reunion with Patton and Logan. Instead, one eye was a bright-toxic-vomit-radioactive green, and the other eye was a vivid-hot-fiery-passionate red, which seemed maybe a _little_ on the nose, but Virgil knew the two Creativities were _anything_ but subtle.

(The fact that Virgil could see _color_ in the Subconscious served a testament to how _good_ Virgil’s eyesight was in the pitch dark of the Subconsious.)

_Well, I suppose the eyes_ are _the windows of the soul._ Virgil thought to himself with a mental shrug, and he eyed the King again for another second, mentally preparing himself for the _feelings_ that he was about to come in contact with.

— — —

The King (Duke— _Prince_ —? It was all garbled now) Didn’t like the look Virgil was giving him _(-them)._ It was calculating and a little apprehensive and more than a little frustrated and it had something _else_ in it that he _-they_ couldn’t decipher, and he-Remus-Duke knew from countless staring matches that _that_ was _dangerous_ and he-Roman-Prince knew that that probably meant something that involved uncomfortable coughing and stammering to get out of the situation—because _gods damn it all_ he couldn’t _lie_ well enough— and _fuck_ they-he- _both_ recognized the look in Virgil’s eyes now and it meant _feelings_ and their-his mind were _not_ stable-melded enough for _that_ right now.

“King.” Virgil said suddenly. Not snappish—not quite, he was too saddish-anxious-worried for that— but his voice was _sharp._ Sharper than his-their halberd-sword-morningstar, which was saying something because they kept their weapons _very sharp._

The King blinked, and Virgil was talking. _Listen to me._ Well, they were _already_ failing at that, but he could try. Their head hurt.

“King, I’m _serious.”_ Virgil _indeed_ sound serious, and they both had learned a healthy respect of the side in their years together, so the King straighted, nodding his _-their_ head.

“Your eyes are different colors.” Virgil stated, matter of fact, “So, I’m taking it that the split at least _somewhat_ worked? Roman and Remus—they're _in_ there now? Can they—can they hear me?”

The King-Dukemas-Princeman tried not to flinch. _Remus_ thought they did a pretty good job, but Roman wasn’t so sure. Remus, for how much time he spent around Deceit, was an _awful_ liar.

Virgil’s eyes narrowed, his spider legs twitching as an unreadable look crossed his face. He shook his head slightly, “Well, I _hope_ they are, because— well, I’m pretty sure you don’t remember this, but we had…” his face twisted up into a look of guilt, “We had an argument.” Virgil said shortly, “Right before the fight with Circe.”

The entities of Prince and Duke shrunk back, minds a mess of _I’m sorry I’m sorry sorry sorry sor_ and _No no don’t talk about it_ that seemed to _clash_ and _meld together_ and _fight_ all at the same time. 

They-King made a whimpering-choked-hurt noise and then they could feel themselves _trembling_ again and suddenly it was _freezing_ and he-they felt themselves _vanish_ for a moment, like he had just had an ice bucket of water dumped on them.

Virgil inhaled sharply, and grabbed at the King, who looked down as Virgil’s hand based through his arm. Virgil visibly shuddered, obviously fighting back his own panic, bringing his hand back to his chest, “L-look, I’m not about to get _mad_ again— it was stupid to be so _angry_ over something as simple as being out of the loop. I just—” Virgil looked away for a second, eight eyes blinking, “I just wish I could apologize to their _faces,_ y’know?”

The words escaped their mouth before they could stop them, “You’re _sorry?”_

Virgil scowled, “Okay, I’m not _that_ mean! I can admit that I was _wrong!_ I can _apologize!”_

“Could’ve fooled _me.”_ the King muttered, and then he immediately cringed because _no you idiot that’s not how royalty should act we’ve done enough harm we have to be_ better _than this_ and also because _no wait Virgil's apologized before—wait have I apologized to_ him _yet?_ — _now’s_ not _the_ time, “No! Wait! I’m sorry— I shouldn’t’ve said that— we’re an _idiot_ — I’m sorry.”

“Whoa— _hey.”_ Virgil set a hand on his— _their_ arm, “It’s okay, King,” his paused, looking a bit confused, “—or, guys? I don’t know.”

The King (no? Prince? Duke? Why was it so hard to _tell?)_ wrapped their-his arms around himself, “No it _isn’t!_ We— _I_ keep on getting angry and saying things I don’t _mean_ and then we just keep _arguing_ and then we get _more_ angry—” they-he-King gasped as they flickered in and out of existence again, feeling cold, as if he had just been transported to the North Pole. Like he was _freezing to death_ and all his limbs were going to _fall off_ because of hypothermia.

Virgil’s spider legs flared in alarm, “Uh— _shit—_ It's _happening_ again— Listen,” Virgil grabbed their hand, pressing it into his chest, speaking hurriedly, “Roman, you’re the one who doesn’t want to split, right? A-and it’s because you _blame_ yourself for something?” 

Roman-Remus‘s— _Roman’s_ (he _was_ Roman, _right?_ At least _partly?)_ breath hitched, and their-his shoulders tensed, “I—”

Virgil’s spider legs twitched nervously, “What— what _is_ it? What’s _so_ bad that—that you feel the need to _stay fused?”_

The King’s shoulders were pulled up to his ears, and he curled into himself, staring at their knees.

“...Roman?” Virgil’s voice was soft, apprehensive.

“It was _my_ fault that—that any of this even _happened.”_ the King whispered miserably, _“All_ of it.”

“Wait, _how?”_ Virgil reared back in surprise, “You hadn’t even _formed_ back then!”

“No,” the King shook his head miserably, “like, _our_ fault, before—before we split.”

“What happened?” Virgil’s normally rough voice was gentle. 

The King clenched their eyes shut, shame flooding through him, “I…I—” he took a deep breath, “ _we_ were—we were arguing, when Mo— _Patton—_ was punishing Lying for getting Thomas into trouble. We didn’t even have separate consciousnesses back then, but it was enough discord to hurt us.” they gritted their teeth, “And Pat thought _Lying_ was doing it, and— and I _couldn’t stop him—”_ the King realized that they were gasping for breath, _“I couldn’t stop him from—”_

“Hey, _hey._ Shhhhhh.” Virgil cut in, setting a hand on their face to wipe off tears they hadn’t even noticed, looking him dead in the eye, “Are you responsible for Patton’s actions?” 

“Wha—?” Roman-Remus blinked, caught off guard, raising a shoulder in uncertainty, “I mean— _basically?_ I made him think—”

Virgil glared, ramming his finger into the King’s chest. His next words were barked out, loud and stern, “Are _you_ responsible for _Patton’s_ actions?”

The King-Duke-Prince leaned away from the other side’s volume, looking down at the finger on his-their chest, “I…” he gulped, cringing back a bit, “...no?”

“Then it _wasn’t. Your. Fault.”_ Virgil’s eight eyes narrowed intensely, “So stop _blaming_ yourself! You can’t fix _everything,_ you know.”

The King-Remus-Roman- _they_ shuddered involuntarily, their body trembling as they went cold again. Virgil made a strangled noise as his finger fell through their-his chest, and as soon as he could, he rammed it back with a growl, “We’re wasting _time!_ You can’t _stall_ anymore, guys! And—” Virgil took in a shaky breath, words coming out faster, more wobbly, “and it’d be _really stupid_ if you guys _died_ before I got to apologize to your faces and I—” Virgil hiccuped (was he _crying?)_ , “I...just don’t _die,_ okay? Apologizing to Deceit is _not_ worth that, and I _can’t_ lose anyone else again— I...I _can’t.”_

The King shuddered as they-he flickered in and out of existence once again. Virgil… Virgil was _right._ He _couldn’t_ stay together long enough to talk to Lying, and — and he wouldn’t be able to see Patton or Logan again, he didn’t have the strength to make a portal in this state.

The thought of never being able to actually see his friends—his _family—_ again...hurt. A lot. 

The King’s form flickered, wobbled, and he knew he didn’t have much time left. He took in a trembling breath, looked up at Virgil, “Can- can you do a favor for me?”

“Of course.” Virgil’s voice was solemn.

“Tell the others—” The King flickered again, “Tell the others that—” he struggled to get the words out, “that I love them, ‘kay?”

And with that, the King let go, stopped struggling against the urge to separate, finally let themselves relax, minds unwinding, the tangle of their thoughts loosening and slipping free from each other with something like a mental _sigh._

The King’s sight darkened— and yet _brightened_ at the same time— and Virgil winked out of existence— or was it _him_ that vanished?— and _then—_

— — —

_“Nononono, c’mon, you guys, wake up wake up wake up—”_

Remus blinked his eyes open to darkness— wait, that didn’t make sense, nothing was _ever_ dark to Remus. As he tried to puzzle this out, he slowly became aware of the fact that it was very hard to _breathe._ Had Roman _finally_ made good on his promise to bury him alive? That was ballsy of him.

But no, as feeling slowly spread throughout his face, Remus felt the softness of a hoodie, the coldness of a zipper. His hand spasmed where it was squished between his chest and Virgil’s, and Virgil gasped.

“Jesus _fuck—”_ Virgil relaxed his hold on Remus, spider legs cradling him, then returned to hugging him even tighter than before, “If you ever, and I mean _ever,_ scare me like that again I will _murder you on the spot.”_

Remus huffed shakily, grinning into Virgil’s hoodie, “K... _kinky,”_

Virgil laughed, and Remus felt his tears drip onto the top of his head, “You’re _okay.”_ he all but sobbed out, “Y-you’re okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I choose not to disclose how long this chapter took me.
> 
> And if you think that I was prolonging the King’s split just so I could try out several different ways to write a fusion, you’d be absolutely right 😌
> 
> ...also sorry for any typos lmao


	37. And I would walk five hundred miles and I would walk five hundred more~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **(Warning: Non-graphic body horror.) (lemme know if I need to add or edit anything tho!)  
> **
> 
> Proud of this chapter! It was surprisingly fun and easy to write lmao.

Virgil was holding two creativities in his arms. Two _still trembling_ creativities. Two still trembling creativities who were both going to get a thorough _ass-kicking_ after they found Deceit.

The thought of Deceit sent anxiety and _urgency_ like a bolt of lightning down his spine, but he forced himself to stay calm, taking a deep breath. One thing at a time. They couldn’t go find Deceit until they were all _okay_ and not _terrified_ and _weak_ from almost being _ripped out existence._ (Well, Virgil was _always_ terrified, so he didn’t really count.)

Gently, Virgil wiggled the arm Roman was clinging to, “Roman? Buddy? You with me?” 

He made sure to keep his voice soft. Roman… well, Roman was obviously more shaken than Remus, the terrified and guilty aura around him blazing like a bonfire. And he was...Embarrassed? Maybe? Virgil couldn’t sense the emotion very well— it wasn’t _anxiety,_ not really. Although maybe it was? Whatever. Virgil couldn’t sense it very well, for _whatever_ reason. Anyways, Virgil understood _why_ Roman would feel embarrassed— having his _guilts_ and _fears_ laid out like like that… that wouldn’t be good for _anyone,_ let _alone_ the literal _embodiment_ of pride.

Roman didn’t answer Virgil at first, squeezing Virgil’s arm almost imperceptibly tighter before tilting his head to look up, voice low, “Y-yeah. I’m okay.”

Virgil almost scolded him for lying, but stopped himself. Now wasn’t the time. He nodded, then wiggled Remus, “Hey. We should get up.”

Remus gasped, and would have sprung right out of Virgil’s lap if Virgil hadn’t tightened his hold on him with his spider legs.

_“Don’t_ flip out again.” Virgil snapped, “I will _not_ let you run off and be _stupid.”_

Remus huffed, “Fine. I won’t run off.”

_“And?”_

“... and I won’t be _stupid.”_

“Good.” Virgil released his hold on the creativities, “Let’s go.”

— — —

_“Sooo…”_ Remus gingerly stepped over a sharp-looking rock, looking about as _awkward_ as Virgil _felt_ , “we… gonna talk about it, or what?”

Virgil sighed through his nose. _Patton_ would want them to— something about ‘lack of communication is the reason we’re _in_ this mess’ and all that— and Logan would probably want them to talk, too, but Virgil was neither Patton _nor_ Logan and also he was very _bad_ at conversations and _especially_ ones about _feelings,_ so _no_ they wouldn’t have an open and honest conversation like they _should’ve_ and _instead_ they were going to _sit_ and _stew_ in the awkwardness like _cowards_.

Virgil didn’t bother supplying Remus with his thought process, instead responding with a quick shake of his head, “Later.”

Remus shrugged, “Whatever.”

Roman, who’s hand was still in Virgil’s— and Virgil was _not_ overthinking it, _thank you very much—_ said nothing, just squeezing Virgil’s hand. A thank you, Virgil thought.

— — —

“Hey, why are you two holding hands? You gay or sumthin’?”

“Remus, I _swear to god—”_

_“Fine!_ Fine, _geez,_ shutting up now.”

_“Please_ do!”

— — —

Virgil shuddered as he _swore_ he heard something skittering behind them, “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Remus asked, spinning around to walk backwards.

Virgil waited a second, straining his ears for any sign of the sound repeating, before shaking his head, “Nevermind.” 

_Jesus,_ this place was getting to him.

—

Virgil eyed the small canyon they had been walking in, “Hey, uh… Remus? Do you actually have any idea where we’re going? You seem pretty… _surefooted_ for someone who hasn’t been here in two decades.”

Remus’s voice was serious as he walked purposefully into the dark, “I’ve never been here, not this spot specifically. But Deceit… he likes small spaces. Always has. Like a snake in his hidey-hole, or his burrow, or whatever. Places he can hide. It makes him feel safer. If he had to choose any place to stay, it’d be in one of these crevices.”

Virgil repressed a shudder. He understood the feeling of wanting a nook to hide in— every spider had its web, after all— but this place just felt _cramped_ to him. The walls were at _least_ eight feet tall, in most places, giving him the impression of being stuck in a jar of sorts, if the jar was long and winding and also not even remotely jar-shaped.

But at least they had an _idea_ of where Deceit would be. Virgil would rather they have to crawl through the narrowest of ravines, the thinnest of gullies, than just wander around in the possibly infinite Subconscious with no idea of Deceit's whereabouts.

Roman sighed listlessly beside Virgil, and Virgil, in turn, worried about him, as one does. (You didn’t even _need_ to be the embodiment of Anxiety to be worried about Roman. Roman was a very _worrying_ being. Virgil should probably worry _more_ about him, to be honest.)

Roman had been quiet throughout their trek through the Subconscious. _Too_ quiet. It was making Virgil, unsurprisingly, _very anxious._ Remus, a bit _more_ surprisingly, was acting skittish in his _own_ way, his steps more enunciated, sending one to many stones skittering, self-consciousness permeating his every move as he led them through the ditches. _Remus_ being anxious made _Virgil_ become even _more_ anxious, which didn’t help _anybody,_ but Virgil said nothing about it.

Virgil held Roman steady as he stumbled on another rock, a little, “Sorry,” escaping the prince. Virgil made some very worried eye contact with Remus, who shrugged helplessly.

— — —

_Click. Click. Click. Click._

— — —

Virgil was broken out of the steady pattern that he had been building in head by Remus humming out a simple tune. But what _really_ broke Virgil out of his little trance was _Roman_ joining in, humming a simple two-part harmony. Virgil and Remus shared a silent grin— Roman would be alright.

— — —

“Hey. Shh.” 

Virgil and Roman halted, “What is it?” Virgil whispered back, a couple spider legs subconsciously extending protectively around Roman.

“I think we’re being _hunted.”_ Came Remus’s hushed reply.

Well _that_ got Virgil’s attention.

“What the _hell?”_ He demanded, whisper-yelling as his spider legs flared angrily, “You never mentioned anything _else_ in the Subconscious!”

“Well, the _King_ didn’t know anything about them, and after that I was a _little_ distracted by _almost dying!”_ Remus hissed back.

“Well, what are we gonna do?” Virgil shot a glance around them, but of _course_ they were trapped in this small cramped ditch, perfect for containing _prey._

It was _then_ that Virgil heard the clicking.

He spun around, letting go of Roman’s hand in the process, eight eyes trained to a spot on the edge of the ditch, where a pair of mandibles greeted him, dripping with saliva.

Immediately, Virgil stepped forward with a predatory hiss— more of a piercing shriek, really, just more airy— mmmm baring his teeth and legs flaring out on instinct to make himself look bigger, more threatening.

The creature, which looked something like a crawdad combined with a shrimp, hissed right back, a sound line air coming out of a balloon combined with a rapid-fire clicking. It started down the almost vertical slope of the ravine, slipping down with a terrified shriek. Its toothpick-like limbs were in no way made for climbing, but it seemed that the party of three was too much to resist.

“Wait, that wasn’t the one I was gonna—” The rest of Remus’s words were cut off as Virgil hissed again, taking a threatening step forward.

The crawfish creature clicked it’s mandibles, clearly weighing its options.

And then there was a growl behind Virgil.

_Another one?_ Virgil itched to turn around, but didn’t dare turn his back to the monster in front of him, “Remus?” he called out.

“It’s, uh, it’s _big!”_ Virgil heard Remus take several quick steps back, “With _lots_ of teeth! And _eyes!”_

Virgil rolled a couple of his eyes at Remus’s tone, _“Please_ at least _try_ to keep it in your pants.”

“We are _literally_ on the way to save the _love of my life,_ I’m not going to let some sexy _monster_ get in my way.” Remus scoffed, scorn clear in his voice. Which didn’t seem really _fair—_ Virgil was _well_ versed with Remus’s ‘tendencies’, as Deceit would say— but you know what, now wasn’t _really_ the time to argue.

Virgil swiped at the crawdad with one of his legs, making the creature scuttle back, too-small eyes gleaming with malice.

There was a yelp behind Virgil, but he forced himself to maintain eye contact with his opponent. “Remus?” No reply. Panic began to claw in Virgil’s chest, distorting his words, “ _Remus!”_

“I’m fine!” Remus grunted out, voice sounding too far away for comfort, “But now I’m on the wrong side of this _oaf_ of a monster and I can’t _see_ you guys!”

_“Fuck.”_ Virgil cursed underneath his breath. The crawdad-shrimp, emboldened by Virgil’s distraction and brief panic, scuttled forward. Virgil tried not to gulp.

He was _about_ to go ‘fuck it’ and just go ham on the creature… but then there was a cry of fear behind him, and all the sudden he was aware of the absolute _terror_ he was practically _wading_ in. _Roman._

Without a second thought, Virgil spun around, _“Princey!”_

Roman was backing up from a tall, very _toothy_ beast— kinda like a cross between a fox and a cat, if foxes or cats had tons of eyes and way too many teeth for its mouth and fur that seemed to drip despite the fact that there was no water for most likely miles and _miles._ (Was there any water at _all_ in this place? Probably not.)

Roman had picked up a rock, but his arms were stiff, as if he had completely forgotten about the projectile in his hand. He was staring at a spot slightly lower than the beast’s maw, shoulders brought up to his ears like a child watching a horror movie.

Virgil’s throat dried up as he saw the creature bare its teeth, preparing to strike at Roman. Virgil’s feet seeped frozen to the ground as he slowly watched Roman’s impending doom. His words scrambled inside his mouth as he tried to warn him, to tell him to _run._

But in Virgil’s fear for Roman, he had completely forgotten to fear for _himself._ A shriek escaped his mouth as he felt sharp mandibles wrap around him, pinning his arms and one of his spider legs to his sides.

Roman started, spun towards the noise, “Virgil!”

Virgil managed to get one word out as the beast behind Roman began to strike, _“Run!”_

Roman took a step back, then spun around and dashed away, the creature narrowly missing him, and Virgil lost track of him as he attempted to try to stab at the crawdad-thing with what spider legs he could, hissing ferociously. 

There was a feral shriek above him, “Hey!” Remus yelled, and Virgil spotted him heaving himself over the edge of the ravine and scrambling to his feet and dashing towards them, “Take your weird _mouth-claws_ off of my _friend!”_

And with that, he leapt off the edge onto an impressive elbow-drop onto the crustacean with a loud cry of rage.

Squealing and clicking, the creature dropped Virgil, desperately trying to attack Remus, who was still on top of it, and also _failing_ at attacking Remus, thankfully.

Virgil, shaking off his daze and ignoring the pain in his arms and leg, dashed towards where he last saw Roman. The foxlike beast had whirled around and was whuffling at a spot on the wall. Virgil took off in a running sprint towards it, using his spider legs to help launch him into its back, making sure to dig in the sharp points of his legs painfully.

The creature howled in pain, immediately twisting around to try to pure at Virgil. Virgil, heart pounding, jabbed one leg at its face, and it snorted in surprise, head rearing back to avoid losing one of its many eyes. 

Virgil yelled down to where he saw the huddled form of Roman in a little crevice, “Run, you _moron!_ I’ve distracted it!”

Virgil could just barely see several emotions fly across Roman’s face: terror, annoyance, and oddly enough, _embarrassment._ The creative side didn’t move.

_“Roman!”_

“I can’t _see,_ okay?” Roman blurted out, “I don’t know where to _go!”_

“You _what?”_ Virgil jabbed at the creature's face again, digging in his spider legs even more as it tried to thrash him off.

“It’s _dark!”_ Roman retorted hotly, “And I don’t have any of those weird _Dark Side magicks_ that give me that _oh-_ so-handy _night vision!”_

Virgil looked back and forth between the creature and Roman, before growling in frustration and making a split second division to leap at its face, slashing at it with two of his spider legs, resulting in a howl of pain as his appendages hit their mark.

Virgil hit the ground in a crouch, and as quick as lighting, he darted away as the creature slashed at him in retaliation. He sprinted towards Roman, grabbing his hand and yanking him out of his hiding place, “Come on!” he growled, then calling back as loudly as he could behind him, _“Remus! We’re heading up the ravine! Follow us when you can!”_

He wasted no time in getting a response, dragging Roman behind him as he got the heck out of there. Roman yelped and stumbled along, “Hey, what happened to the part where I mentioned that _I can’t see?”_

Virgil growled, “Well I can’t _carry_ you, and did _you_ miss the part where there was a _gigantic monster_ chasing us?”

“Lead the way, Sunshine!”

— — —

Remus was _fighting_ and he was _winning._ Again and _again_ he pounded the creature that had been _attacking his friends_ in the head.

He remembered how it had snagged Virgil from behind, how it had attempted to _chase_ him. He snarled savagely. Had it tried to do that to _Deceit,_ too? Had it chased after him? Had it _hurt_ him?

Remus slammed his hands on its head again. The creature clacked and squealed in pain, and attempted to buck him off. Remus’s grip on the thing only tightened. He raised and brought down his hands again, managing to hit what _might’ve_ been it’s eye, but it was hard to tell from the angle he was in.

The shrimp-crawdad’s squeal was the loudest one yet, and it slammed its side into the wall. Remus’s head hit hard rock with a resounding _crack._ Stars flashed before his eyes, and his head swam. He distantly felt his grip on the beast loosening, but he forced himself to hang on, hands finding little chunks in the thing’s exoskeleton, and he clutched at the sharp edges, only distantly registering the pain in his palms.

He forced himself to breathe in deeply. He didn’t have any power here, nothing that insured impermanence, and while his pain tolerance was _astronomical,_ he _couldn’t_ afford a head injury right now.

That being said, he knew he didn’t have a concussion, from the lack of ringing in his ears, and the fact that he was able to form complete sentences. Quite a few sentences, actually. Most in them involving cheery words like _‘fuck’_ and _‘I’ll kill you for that’._

As Remus’s head cleared, he realized that the creature was running, attempting to flee the thing on his back at dizzying speeds. Which was. Bad. To say the least. Where were Virgil and Roman? How far away were they? _Fuck,_ he just left them behind with that gigantic monster! 

Remus growled and returned to hitting the thing in the eye again and again in rapid succession, hissing out as he did so, “Die die die die _die!”_

The creature shrieked again, spinning around to avoid his hand. Which was _decidedly_ not a wise decision. The shrimplike creature _slamm_ ed into the wall headfirst. Remus, who was just holding on for dear life at this point, saw it coming and let go just in time, narrowly avoiding getting impaled by one of its legs.

The thing staggered, then fell, a crack in its exoskeleton leaking. It’s legs wheeled wildly through the air, though it had no luck getting back up. 

Remus spotted a loose rock above it, just _begging_ to be knocked down to squash a crawdad-shrimp. Remus nimbly climbed the wall, easily finding crevices in the rock to use and handholds and footholds. The beast began to struggle to its feet as Remus reached the rock, so he wasted no time in reaching it and violently wiggling it back and forth, dislodging it.

It fell down onto the crawdad-shrimp with a sharp, squelching _crack._ The creature screamed— a long, wailing scream, the type of scream someone only screamed when they died.

(Remus closed his eyes against the sound. He used to revel in screams like that. They used to be the orchestra to his balls of gore and blood. He remembered dancing a dance that only those who fought to _kill_ knew.)

(It was amazing what trauma could do to change your opinions on things you once loved.)

Remus shook memories away, and jumped down after the fallen rock, and well. If the creature wasn’t dead yet, it certainly was _now,_ judging from the wet cracking noises that rung out into the darkness.

Remus may have lost his touch somewhat, but he always loved some good ol’ _revenge._

Remus jumped off the corpse, inspecting the new dripping stains on his clothes before nodding appreciatively at the new additions. _Very_ nicely placed, if he said so himself.

Spinning around, Remus’s brows furrowed as he wondered which way he came from. All the spinning the crawdad had done just a minute ago had left him _completely_ turned around.

But he _wasn’t_ going to return empty-handled.

Remus hefted to the top of the ravine, heaving himself over the edge as if he were getting out of a pool instead of an eight foot deep ravine in the middle of a pitch-black wasteland.

Remus picked a direction and started marching.

— — —

With furrowed brows, Remus noted that the ravine was getting thinner. He must have been going the wrong way. He turned around. 

— — —

“AND _I_ WOULD WALK FIVE HUN _DRED_ MILES AND _I_ WOULD WALK FIVE HUND _RED_ MORE—” Remus schreeched at the top of his lungs. Calling names over and over again was too boring. 

(His voice bad shaken one too many times for him to trust himself saying their names.)

(Was this how Virgil felt all the time? When he fought back against his anxiety instead of embracing it?)

(As Remus himself had said, repression can be very bad _indeed,_ but he had had a… _visceral_ reaction when the mangled bodies of his friends invaded his thoughts. Now was probably a pretty good time for exceptions.)

— — — 

The ravine was _still_ getting thinner, despite the fact that Remus had turned around. Deceit has mentioned something like this. The Subconscious _shifted,_ sometimes, made you think you were going insane. And in _this_ case, it _separated_ people.

He still wasn’t coming back until he had found Deceit. Besides, time was slower out there, no one would even miss him.

— — — 

It was true, what Deceit had said to him. Even when you were bone-tired, when your feet felt like they were falling off, leaving you with only bloody stumps, your body told you to _move._ Remus’s brain wouldn’t let him stay still, as if the floor was sand warmed too long in the sun and you couldn’t stand normally without it burning your feet.

— — —

He hadn’t encountered any other creatures (he was pretty sure that Deceit had called them _Nightmares?)_ , which was fortunate. His head was starting to throb, and his steps were getting less and less coordinated. His throat hurt from yelling.

— — —

Remus cupped his hands around his mouth, _“Viiiirgiiiilll! Romannnn! Deci—”_ he coughed, but continued yelling despite the rawness in his throat, _“Deceeeeiiiiit!”_

He _refused_ to leave empty-handed.

— — —

Exhaustion was starting to catch up to him. With all that had happened in what, the last _day_ or so, his body had been stretched to the limit. Between a mental breakdown, an argument with his brother and Virgil, _refusing_ with Roman and then _splitting_ again, and then walking for hours on end, he was nearing the point of collapse.

He would _not_ give up, though.

— — —

He would _not._

— — —

He _wouldn’t._

— — — 

He was _not_ going to— 

Remus saw a figure on the ground.

Unbidden, in a cracky, painful, teary voice, he heard himself call out.

“Deceit?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we’ve waited so long for this 😌. Thank you all for being patient and not full on _strangling_ me for dragging it out as long as I could lol


	38. Y’all knew this was coming (I’m so sorry don’t get excited this isn’t a chapter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *GASPS* IM NOT DEAD, JUST DEPRESSED AND INJURED. APOLOGY BELOW.

Okay, I guess it’s time for this now.

so to start off, I’d like to apologize for just randomly disappearing like that... my dad actually put restrictions on all my apps and I literally couldn’t get into ao3 for a couple weeks, nor could I write on docs for more then an hour on my personal account. So yeah, that part is my dad’s fault but I fixed it. After that, I got writers block and school has literally taken _all_ of my free time away, and I knew I _should_ do this, but I wanted to have an actual _chapter_ to go with it.

And I avoided my email, too. I just looked at them and uhhhhhh yea I’m Sorry. It was really unfair of me to go MIA after saying there was a fire close to my house. I should’ve at least told you that I was _okay_.

  
(tw burn mentions for the next paragraph)

And speaking of fire, I also got pretty badly burned on my right hand last night, in an accident which was actually really stupid in retrospect. And I can’t type well with that hand without pain, so I’m sure you know where this is going. According to google, a large portion of my hand has a second-degree burn and those take a month to heal, and I didn’t feel like it was fair for me to keep avoiding making this announcement without letting you know. (This also means I can’t go on tumblr as much, which is major sucks :( )

  
I’m sure you all can tell that this fic is close to ending (I mean,,, I _hope_ you did and that I didn’t inadvertently spoil anything,,,,) and if I’m being honest I’ve never finished such a big project before, and I _really really_ want to finish this one, so you don’t have to worry about this fic being discontinued. The only problem is that I have absolutely no practice finishing a fic and don’t know what counts as a good ending, so that’s pretty daunting, but I’ll try my best!!! 

And ummm I think that’s it for my Epic YouTube Apology (not clickbait!!!), so stay chill and uhh don’t get injured in your right hand!!! Mine is Very Much In Pain rn so I’m gonna go now lol. I’ll try to respond to comments but no promises.


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